


The Engineer and the Magician

by AGirloftheSouth



Series: The Engineer and the Magician [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirloftheSouth/pseuds/AGirloftheSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River Song has been removed from the database and plopped back into her life. However, those who rescued her are a mystery. The Doctor has regenerated and been without her for far too long. The reunion isn't as smooth as anyone would like, but a reunion it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rescue

 

A/N -  Doctor Who fic that has been running around in my head a bit.  Finally decided to write it down.  First time in this playground so we will see how it goes. 

Disclaimer – Obviously, I own nothing. 

 

The Engineer and the Magician

Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.  – Sophocles

 

She was walking down the stairs, the quiet buzz that always existed in the database filling her ears.  She didn’t usually notice it, white noise that was just an everyday part of her life.  But it was different today. 

She noticed the change just as she stepped into the foyer and turned towards her living room.  She frowned, focusing on it. 

Higher pitched. Louder.

She strained to hear the difference, studying it, searching for a pattern. Looking for a tell. There was nothing.  Just a constant high pitched, barely noticeable whine. 

She listened for another moment more before dismissing it.  Perhaps it was just that she was noticing it now.  Paying attention to something that she was usually unaware of.  That could certainly account for the discomfort in her stomach at the sound.  And it was annoying.  She sighed, not buying her own argument but continuing towards her living room anyway.

She dropped her journal on the table and made her way over to the fireplace; it needed to be built up, the dying flames casting odd shadows around the dark room.  Her fingers closed around the poker, and she dropped it to the floor. 

It was cold. 

It wasn’t supposed to be cold. 

It shouldn’t be anything.  Not really.  Nothing more than the sensation of holding something.  Synapses in the computer mimicking what her brain would have thought, felt.  It wasn’t real.  It never had been.

It was just there. 

She gasped as the flame grew on its own, billowing dangerously against the wire mesh.  She took a step back, her calf hitting the coffee table.  It wasn’t forceful, barely enough to rattle the tea mug that sat atop on the glass, but a second later the whole thing shattered.  She turned, stumbling, trying desperately to avoid the glass with her bare feet, even if it didn’t make a difference.  Her brain would still think it was injured.  She’d still bleed, even if it would vanish with the next data sweep.

She shook her head, reaching for the light next to the couch.  Confusion was always more difficult in the dark.  For just a moment the room was alight, and the bulb popped and darkness enveloped her again.

Something else that didn’t happen in the database.  Lightbulbs never burned out. 

The high pitched noise swarmed into her head again, turning into a thumping pulse. The house around her started to shake, the fire fluctuating in strength. Shadows faded in and out of her line of vision.  She made her way towards the window, pushing the curtain aside to look out onto the grassy field that spread out in front of her house.  Surely others were experiencing this strangeness.  Surely the others were scared. 

Her yard wasn’t there, nor were her neighbors, the street, or the buildings.  Instead a series of symbols rushed before her eyes, sequencing.  Code.  It altered into binary code and she gasped, stepping back from the window and heading for the stairs. 

The computer must be crashing, the system failing. 

They were dying. 

The children, the children that weren’t hers – the children that she cared for but didn’t love, the children that didn’t age – were in their room.  She wanted to get to them, ensure their safety even though she knew there was nothing she could do. 

She was terrified and panicking. 

She reached the stairs and the banister fell away in her hands.  The high pitched noise screamed around her as her chest seized.  She collapsed to her knees, realizing too late that she no longer had knees.  She no longer had anything.  She was a series of numbers, symbols, same as the rest of it.

She thought of the Doctor.  She thought of how sad he’d be to realize his plan had failed.  He’d be heartbroken to learn that he hadn’t saved her forever after all. She thought of his face and his stupid bowtie and her world went dark.  It was all cold.  Her muscles seized and she started to shake. 

* * *

 

It was bright, blinding. She closed her eyes.

And cold.  So, so cold.  Her bones ached, her jaw tightening as her teeth ground together, the sensation aching down her neck.

“Shh,” she heard.  The sound of it bounced around her head like a tennis ball, bruising her temples and the base of her skull.  There was a touch on her shoulder, fingers like fire.  She gasped, air filling her lungs, her chest aching as if it was the first air she’d ever breathed.

In a way it was. 

“Shh,” she heard again, calmer this time, less painful.  The fingers were still too warm as they grazed up her shoulder and cupped her cheek.  “Open your eyes,” she heard from a distance, her mind foggy as she did as commanded.  It was fuzzy, a blurry mess of too bright light and a face swimming in her vision.  None of the pieces fit into the right places and she closed her eyes again, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. 

She snapped her eyes open and doubled over, a bucket appearing in her line of vision just as the dry heaves started.  Her stomach convulsed, her body shivering from the cold and the sick. She collapsed to the floor, legs and arms wobbly as she sat on all fours, face buried in the bucket.  The smell of bile and the brightness made her stomach churn again and she heaved up nothing, the too warm fingers collecting her hair and holding it away. 

The pain was unbearable. She had to be dying. 

She managed to mumble the thought, almost collapsing as the quiet voice chuckled.

“Hardly,” it whispered, a girl’s voice, River realized.  “Being born is more like it.” 

Hot fingers settled on her neck, and trailed down her spine.  Skin on skin.  River realized she was naked. 

“Here,” the voice said, pushing gently on her shoulders.  “Sit back.”  River did as instructed, settling on her heels, goose bumps breaking out all over her skin.  “I have some blankets,” the girl said as soft material covered River’s shoulders.  And the girlin front of her helped wrap it around, tucking it in all around herself. 

It took a long few seconds, but the pain of the chill faded.  She was still cold – desperately cold – but her body had stilled. 

A second blanket joined the first, this one giving off a slight buzz as it heated the air around it. 

“It’ll be okay,” the voice said, and River tested opening her eyes again.  The room was still too bright, but it no longer made her sick.  “I know you don’t understand, but it will be okay.” 

The voice did belong to a girl; she was older than River thought, but still young.  She knelt in front of River, a hand reaching out.  The touch was still warm, but no longer burned.  A small thumb traced over River’s cheek and it was only then that River realized she was crying. 

“I–” River started, her voice cracking, her tongue not really working. 

The girl shook her head, the thumb landing on River’s lips to silence her. 

“It’s too soon for that,” the quiet voice said. Her blue eyes were piercing as a smile lit up her small face.  “We’ve got to get the rest of you working first.” 

River didn’t understand and she didn’t like that. 

Where was she?  Who was she?  Who was this? 

“Later,” the girl said as if reading River’s mind, her small hand dropping away. 

A second later there was another face in front of hers.  Male, also young.  Another smile, but warmer. 

“We’re going to take you to the hospital,” he said.  “And we’ll go from there.”  He glanced over his shoulder at the young girl who was watching anxiously.  “I can’t believe she’s stayed conscious.” 

There was another chuckle, and the girl huffed.  “She’s never taken the easy route.” 

And it was if the realization that she shouldn’t be awake was suddenly permission to not be.  She sagged forward, two arms catching her as the darkness took over.  Warm hands were on her cheek again, the same small ones.  River somehow thought she’d know them forever now. 

However long that was, because certainly she was dying.  She had to be. 

“Keep her flat,” said a voice, the boy she thought. 

Then there was a jumble of voices and suddenly she was being carried. The movements soothing and sweet as warmth enveloped her and her body went limp.

* * *

 

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

 

The noise penetrated her sleep, her dream.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done either, not really.  It felt good. 

But not. 

She opened her eyes, staring at a dimly lit ceiling.  It looked familiar, but she didn’t recognize it.  She took a deep breath and her lungs ached at the air; it was too cold despite the comfortable temperature in the room.  She took another deep breath and it was a bit easier. 

“Take it easy,” said a soft voice.  River turned her head to see a young man sitting next to her bed.  Piercing green eyes – familiar, but she didn’t know why.

“Whe–” she started, air catching in her throat.  It ached, and she tried to cough but couldn’t.  She felt a swell of panic, she couldn’t breath.  She felt her eyes go wide as she stared at the young man sitting next to her.  A smile spread across his face and he leaned over, a hand pressing to her chest. 

“Take it easy,” he repeated, a swell of warmth spreading through her chest.  It wasn’t just his touch, she felt something.  A familiar twinge, a series of electric shocks.  She tried to turn, tried to see what he was doing but she couldn’t take her eyes off of his. His face was calm, his smile soothing.  “You’re fine,” he whispered as she managed to gasp in a breath.  It was easy, relaxing.  She let her eyes drift closed and the warm hand moved away from her. 

“Sleep,” he said.  “You need it.”

“Where?” she managed this time, the sounds of the room fading around her. 

“Sisters of the Infinite Schism,” he said.  It was familiar but she didn’t know why.  She tried to remember but couldn’t.  It was all dark.  It was all lost. 

“The Doctor will be here shortly,” the voice said.  A clear image walked into her dream and smiled at her. 

* * *

 

“She’s struggling,” he said into his mobile device, trying to not draw attention to himself in the small hallway.  He slipped through a door, relieved to see it was one of the server rooms.  It was cool, and he was able to lean against the door and close his eyes. 

This had been harder than he’d anticipated.  They’d had to turn the heat up in her room to keep her temperature up.  He’d known they were going to have to, he knew the entire process of her recovery, but sitting in that room waiting had been miserable. 

“Are they working on her?” the voice on the other end of the line asked. 

“Yeah,” he said.  “I barely made it out, but was sure be seen on the surveillance. She was having trouble breathing.”

“You fixed it,” she snapped. He understood why she was so stressed.  He didn’t envy the role she had to play.  Sitting in the hot hospital room suddenly didn’t seem so bad. 

“Of course,” he said.  “He’ll have quite a show.  Lots of puzzle pieces.” 

“Good,” she said.  “I see him.  It’s still crowded though,” she sighed. “Everyone should be going onto the balcony soon.  Except him, of course.”

“Of course.”  They were quiet for a moment.  He listened to her building up her nerve, and he was reluctant to get off the line. 

“She’s going to be fine,” she said, her voice not as certain as he’d expected. 

“She has to be,” he said, knowing that no other scenario made sense. 

She sighed again.  “They’re passing out the glasses. I should get going.” A pause.  “Give her… give her a kiss from me.” 

“If she’s still asleep…”

“Of course.”  Another sigh.  “Okay, see you soon.” 

The connection was broken before he could respond. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Daylight

There’s never one sunrise the same… -- Carlos Santana

* * *

 

The Doctor leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of the blue beverage that had been set in front of him.  Clara had insisted it was delightful, so he’d agreed to try.  New body – well not that new now – new tastes.  He hadn’t been here since he’d regenerated.  Hell, he hadn’t been here since long before that.  He hadn’t been here since….

He pushed that thought away (although it didn’t go far) and focused on Clara.  She was standing near the bar, laughing with one of the planet’s purple skinned natives.  He’d never planned on coming here again, one of many places he’d planned to never visit again.  But Clara had heard about the Sunrises at a nearby trading post and had begged him.  He’d finally agreed, simply because it was good to see her smiling again.  After Danny Pink and after that disaster with Santa she’d been hesitant, willing but afraid.  The fear alarmed him more than anything. 

And there was none of it here. 

And it was hardly as if she’d asked him to go to Darillium.  He’d been happy here.  Lots of flirting and touching as the darkness had dissipated around them.  And somewhere between the fifth and sixth suns rising River had led him to their room and they’d missed the conclusion of the planet’s claim to fame.  He doubted a blue star rising in the sky would have been more impressive than his wife. 

And now he’d get to see it, have another memory to tie himself to here.  It wouldn’t be enough though. Nothing ever was.  But this place didn’t hurt.  Overall, the hurt was fading. It wasn’t gone.  He was starting to think it would never be gone, but it was nice to think of her without his chest aching.  He liked to remember his wife, even now. 

He took another sip of the drink, disliking it as much as he had the first time he’d come here.  He hadn’t felt the need to finish it that time though.  River had seen the distaste on his face as soon as the liquid had touched his tongue.  She’d thrown her head back, laughed, and drank it down for him.

Clara would be disappointed though.  Clara liked when he liked things, so he drank. 

“Grievie says it’ll be any minute now.  Are you coming onto the balcony?” Clara asked, suddenly appearing in front of him and grabbing his hand, but he wiggled it free. 

“Go,” he said, taking another sip showing her he liked the drink she’d chosen. “I’ve seen it, just stars in the sky. Go be in awe.” 

She frowned for just a moment, before nodding.  She reached and squeezed his fingers quickly before grabbing glasses from a passing tray and running to catch up to her new friend.  After all the time they’d spent together it amazed him that she was still awed by so many things. 

“The first sun will rise in less than two minutes,” said a voice to his right.  He glanced up to see a young woman, a girl really, standing next to the table.  Long fingers of one hand were playing with the back of the chair opposite him as her attention was focused towards the balcony.  Her long blond hair was swept over one shoulder.  Human he thought, or something similar.  He wasn’t so good at recognizing this go round. 

A pair of sunglasses appeared in her hand and she pushed them across the table towards him, still not looking at him. 

“I’ve never seen it,” she said, her voice barely penetrating the sound of people rushing towards the doors.  

“It’s beautiful apparently,” he said, trying to ignore the annoyance he felt at the intrusion of his moment.  He didn’t like strangers and he certainly didn’t like strangers interrupting his outing with his friend, even if she was with a purple skinned hermaphrodite watching suns rise. 

The girl nodded, keeping her eyes on the windows as the blackness started to turn purple.  He reached for the sunglasses and slipped them on.  “My mother told me about it.  Dad brought her here for one of their anniversaries before– well before she died.” She paused fingers starting to dance across the back of the chair again. 

There was something about her, he realized.  Something that unsettled him, made his hearts beat faster.  He didn’t like that. 

“She said it was simply stunning.” The words rung somewhere in his head as the first bright rays started to penetrate the horizon.  The Doctor watched as they spread over the young woman’s face.  Her flawless skin, her glistening hair.  The woman smiled and took a step towards the window, something dropping on the table in front of him. 

He stared at it, the long cylindrical object that reminded him momentarily of his screwdriver. 

“It extracts data,” she said and he wondered if she was truly in awe of the sun or she was being deliberately obtuse. He suspected the latter.  “All kinds.  When connected to a transporter it can retrieve biological information and recreate it – it isn’t even a clone really, more of a resurrection of the original information.” 

He snorted and pushed the object away. “It’s too small to be a replicator,” he growled, having no idea what she was saying. 

“It isn’t,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

“I’m not interested in buying it,” he said, tiring of this and wanting the girl to leave. 

“I’m not selling,” she answered quickly.  He glared at her but she didn’t turn, seemingly unaware of his annoyance.   

“Then why,” he said louder than he intended, “are we still talking about it?  This,” he poked at it, “not-replicator that you’ve dropped on my table.  You’ve interrupted by sunrise viewing for something that sounds worthless.  And like it’s impossible and doesn’t work.  Why would someone bother with it?” he asked.  He took another sip of the blue drink and pushed it away.  He’d wait for Clara in the Tardis. There were plenty of books to read where he didn’t have to interact with lunatics with crazy tools. 

“Who wouldn’t?” she asked, face lighting up with the orange light as the ball in the sky finally broke the horizon.  “You help people.  Save them.  _Heal_ them.”

His stomach sank and anger swelled in his chest. 

“Who are you?” he asked, recognizing the personal reference.  She snapped her head around, for the first time looking at him head on.  The glasses swallowed her face, resting low on her nose.  She was younger than he’d first thought, much younger.  She frowned at him and snatched the wand back, tucking it into the bag hanging off of one shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, taking a step backwards and moving away from him.  He reached for her arm, but she dodged him.  “None of it matters,” she said.  “Enjoy the sun rises…” she paused moving towards the door as he moved around the table to follow, “Doctor.”

“Wait,” he said as a strange green light permeated the room.  The second sun rising in front of the first, its own closer rotation making it appear to move faster.  She turned as he moved past where she’d just been standing, and started to run.  

He heard a door open, Clara’s voice following him across the room.

“Doctor you shou… Doctor?”  He picked up the pace as the girl moved through a doorway, swinging quickly to the left. 

“Doctor?” he heard Clara behind him.  He turned to the left, seeing the young woman ahead of him.  The hallway was long, she had nowhere to turn.  He sped up, he should be able to catch her.  He heard Clara turn down the hallway and glanced over his shoulder, completely missing the silver disk that had been dropped onto the floor. 

There was a flash, a bang, and the young woman was gone. 

“Bloody hell,” he said stopping as Clara caught up with him.

“Doctor?” she asked.  “What’s going on?  Who--?” She leaned over, trying to catch her breath, sun glasses still on her face.  

“Time bubble,” he said, kicking the silver disk.  It bounced across the hall slamming into a wall and shattering.  He cursed again.  He shouldn’t have damaged it.  “Get in and get stuck for a few second.  Nothing drastic or exciting.  Kids game really.” He shook his head again.  “Played with them on Gallifrey.”

She frowned and walked over to it.  “Time Lord technology?” she asked and he nodded

“But not unique to Gallifrey.  They aren’t particularly complicated.” 

“We don’t have them on Earth.”  He rolled his eyes, Earth was hardly a technological powerhouse.  He picked it up and started back down the hallway, not bothering to run.  She’d have had plenty of time to get away, get lost. 

He pulled out is sonic and searched, following her path. 

“Who was that?” Clara said moving into position behind him. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He could feel her confusion.  “Then why are we following?”

He didn’t know that either, but didn’t answer.  He didn’t know why.  She knew him.  She’d taunted him. 

And there was something about her. 

“Shut up,” he said, moving down a small staircase and entering another hallway. He followed where the sonic led him and wasn’t paying attention to anything else. 

“Doctor!” Clara exclaimed as he moved to open the door in front of them.  “Isn’t that the room where we parked the Tardis?” 

A wave of panic swept over him as he looked up.  He didn’t recognize it, that’s why he made Clara remember them, and he believed her.  He soniced the lock quickly and popped the door open.  His blue box was on the other side looking just like he’d left it.  There was a palpable wave of relief between the two of them as they made their way towards the Tardis. 

“Doctor?” Clara asked, still confused.  He opened the door and stepped inside, stopping so suddenly Clara ran into his back. 

The damage was in here.  “Oh my god,” Clara said, moving around him and into the Tardis. 

“How?” She paused, kneeling to look at the drawing closest to them on the stairs.  “It’s almost like…”  He moved closer studying it over her shoulder.

A children’s drawing, two stick figures one male, one female.  His stomach dropped again.  Clara continued talking as he moved to the next one.  Similar picture, different artist, obviously still a child.  The Tardis along with a two suns shining in the distance.  That could be anywhere.

“Look for a name or dates,” he shouted over his shoulder, climbing up the stairs and staring at a bookcase. 

“Why would the Tardis let someone do this?  Why would she let someone vandalize her?”

“She didn’t,” he said over his shoulder.  Another drawing, one of the Amilock beast on Baslik Prime.  Horrible ugly creates, but ridiculously sweet, especially to children.  Unbelievable parental instincts that could sense when a child was in danger.  And for reasons passing understanding children loved to cuddle with the ungodly beasts.   

“Doctor, here,” Clara said pointing at something under the console. He plunged down the stairs and ducked underneath to look.   “I... Is that Gallifreyan?” 

He dropped to his knees, easily reading through the perfect circles.  His name, his birth name.  He heard it in his head the way River used to whisper it to him when they were alone.  Her tongue rolled the sounds perfectly – he pushed that away and read the coordinates below it.  He swallowed, recognizing them immediately.  He shook his head.  He couldn’t go there.  He wouldn’t go there.  There was something else…

He closed his eyes as the console came to life above his head.  Clara looked up, alarm showing on her face.  But he knew.  He understood. 

He didn’t have a say.

“Where are we going?” she asked, reaching for the lever to stop it.  Stop the momentum. Stop the machine.  She couldn’t move it.  The Tardis wouldn’t be stopped.   

“The largest library in the universe,” he said, looking up at her and trying to fight the burning in his eyes. 

She frowned, understanding what that meant.  She looked up, watching the ceiling above them spin. 

“What does it say?” she asked, finger pointing towards the Gallifreyan words.  He glanced at them again.  Glanced at his name.  His wife’s resting place.  And the command so clearly laid out in front of him.  He decided it was best to summarize. 

“Visit her,” he said, voice catching despite his best efforts.  Clara’s hand dropped to his shoulder and squeezed and the Tardis started to wheeze around them. 

They’d landed. 

 

 

 


	3. Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Since this is the first thing I’ve ever published here, I have been lapse in giving ScopesMonkey proper credit for all the beta work she has done on this story. She’s been my regular beta since about the second thing I ever wrote and is probably the only reason anything ever got published. Thank you dear friend. Happy Birthday!

I discovered me in the library – Ray Bradbury

 

With every person they passed Clara felt his mood growing darker.  He scowled at a young boy laughing out loud at a picture book and glared at the young woman reading up on wedding traditions for her upcoming nuptials.  It was a library, an endless source of information and books.  Clara’d half expected his curiosity to overtake this library’s negative memory.  He wasn’t so good with memories anymore.  

“No running!” he yelled after two boys racing after their parents. They stopped almost dead in their tracks and stared up at him in panic.  Clara grabbed his arm and pulled him along, despite the fact that she had no idea at all where they were going. 

“Disrespectful,” the Doctor mumbled under his breath.  He seemed to be eyeing every dark corner or dim hallway anxiously.  Almost waiting for something. 

“They’re children,” she said.  “Libraries are often fun for them.” 

He stopped, glaring at her for a long moment as if she’d suddenly sprouted another head.  Clara was tempted to reach up just to make sure that she hadn’t – certainly it happened somewhere in the universe.  He snatched his hand away and moved past her, quickening his pace. 

“…tomb,” she heard in his wake, and her stomach sank.  She really hadn’t looked at it quite like that.  It made her feel suddenly very, very sad for him. 

Clara followed him up a set of stairs and through a door that was labelled administration.  It seemed unusual for him to address a problem so head on, but then she had no idea at all what to expect here.

There was nobody in the main reception area, so he trotted over towards another door on the left.  He stopped and she fell into line behind him, staring in shock as he took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle.  But as soon as the door was open the Doctor she’d always known had pulled his façade back into place. 

“Excuse me,” he said. It appeared to be a conference room, and several faces turned to examine the interruption.  He held up his psychic paper and started talking. “Several centuries ago I helped this library deal with its Vashta Nerada situation.  Nasty, nasty mess.  It cost me dearly, everything really, although I didn’t dwell on that at the time.  Now, I need to speak to my wife, so I’ll need access to your mainframe.  Still in the basement?” A smirk crossed his face at the looks of confusion on all the faces.  “Shall we call it an inspection?”

* * *

Three men stood off in the corner, unsure about what was going on.  The psychic paper had shut them up though, and they just watched.  Clara was closer to the Doctor, but still keeping her distance.  He was angry, unlike she’d ever seen him.  And she thought, knew really, that he was angry to cover up the other things he was feeling.  She could see the pain in his eyes, the reluctance in his body. 

It was terrifying. 

He walked past the funnily shaped chair and to the lit metal wall.  He stood in front of it, his fingers reaching behind him to dance along the chair.  They were tracing absent circles that she suspected were Galiffreyan. 

“River,” he paused, the fingers reaching up to trace the same pattern along the grey wall.  “River. River.”  His touch was gentle, almost intimate, as his hand moved in front of him.  It remind Clara so much of the way the previous version had achingly reached for the headstone on Trenzalore. 

But she realized, in truth, he was doing the exact same thing here.  Touching his wife’s final resting place with a tenderness that was painful. 

“I’m sorry,” Clara heard him whisper before his hand flattened over a connecting port and he leaned his head forward.  She felt tears brim her eyes as she watched his pain ooze out of him.  And then it was over.  His back stiffened, he pulled his hands away and he turned to look at the creepy image of the girl’s face behind them.

“CAL,” he said striding over to meet the images eyes.  “I need a terminal that has access to your complete upload history.  Where can I do that?”  The face of the little girl smiled and a screen next to them came to life.  Immediately the doctor went to work, typing madly as a series of numbers moved across the screen.

“She is no longer here,” the girl’s face said, the Doctor’s fingers stumbled, but just for a second.  He nodded, acknowledging her words.  “Professor Song was here and she is no more.”

“I assumed,” he said, his voice shaking. 

“What’s going on?” one of the security men asked. The Doctor looked up, glared at him and went back to work.  The computer chirped a moment later and he pointed at the screen.

“It’s still here, not even a bit of corrosion” he said, looking at Clara.  She walked over and stared at the screen.  It looked like gibberish.  Something one of the hacker kids in her classes would talk about.  She didn’t understand it. 

“What is that?” Clara asked, shaking her head. 

The Doctor took a shaking breath next to her and reached out to touch the screen with the same reverence as before.  “It’s my wife,” he whispered.  There was a long moment of quiet, before he continued.  “It’s her, when he– I–  we saved her.” 

He paused again before pulling something out of his pocket and sliding it into the terminal. The typing continued. 

He pointed at the screen a moment later and looked towards the men, pulling the small item from the terminal.  “And this is where she was removed.  It’s time to look at your antiquated security system.”

* * *

“Is that her?” asked Clara, pointing at the girl on the monitor.  It was, long blond hair tossed over one shoulder as she started to work on one of the terminals in the transporter room.

“Who’s he?” Clara asked about the young man entering the picture and starting to work on the actual transporters.  “What’s he doing?” she continued.

The Doctor didn’t answer, because he didn’t have an answer.  He didn’t know. 

The only thing in the computer logs was River’s sequence being removed.  There was no indication of what had done it.  No information going in or out other than that.  Other than River. Those people – these people that he was looking at on the screen – had simply stopped his wife from existing. 

And that made him angrier than he’d ever been.  Ever.  Oh, if the War Doctor were here now. 

“No sound, really?” he said, gesturing at the security team as the two people on the screen started to talk to each other.  It was ridiculous really that the features here were absolutely no different from a petrol station centuries ago.  Asinine really.

“It’s a library, mate,” one of them said.  “Don’t exactly have a huge theft problem.  And it’s the server room, not the stacks.”

The Doctor huffed. 

“What I don’t understand,” said one of the men.  “They were familiar with the system, able to bypass every other point, why didn’t they shut these cameras off too?”

It was an excellent point, and one the Doctor was more than curious about.  Obviously they’d wanted to be seen.  But why?

“And, well, I mean,” the other guard said.  “To get inside – our locking mechanisms are state of the art. We always joked it would take a magic trick to get inside.” He chuckled, as did his partner.  The Doctor glared at them and they stopped.

A moment later the transporter came to life on the screen. The Doctor spotted the cylinder the young woman had showed him plugged in on the bottom, glowing bright. 

_Not a clone exactly._

The Doctor’s throat tightened _._

 The young man moved frantically to the terminal and started working furiously.  The girl crouched down, sitting next to the transporter as it continued to glow.  Occasionally she’d reach for the cylinder, seeming to adjust its settings, but did nothing else. 

He turned his attention to the object forming in the transporter platform and, as it started to materialize, he felt his heart sink to the floor.  Resurrection was the word the girl had used.  Resurrection. 

He should have figured it out before.  He should have understood.

The Doctor would know that mess of curls anywhere.  His breath caught and he leaned forward, one of his hearts shattering in a million pieces the other beating with an excitement he couldn’t even begin to fathom.  What they were doing was impossible.  Unbelievably impossible.  And yet as the body began to form he’d never been more positive about anything he’d ever seen. 

“Oh my god,” Clara said next to him.  “Oh my god.  Is it…” she trailed off and he could only nod, his throat constricting. 

He’d spent years, tried everything.  Everything.  And nothing.  He’d never found a way.  Never found a solution, and here these kids, they’d done what he couldn’t.  It was horrifying and glorious all at the same moment.  And as the transporter stopped glowing he watched with wonder as the naked body of his wife lay still on the platform. 

He sat up in the chair and swallowed past the lump in his throat as River struggled, the girl helping her.  Calming her.  The boy brought one blanket, then another.  Finally River stilled, and collapsed forward. The boy picked her up easily and carried her off to the side, the edge of the portable stretcher just visible as he worked. 

The girl pulled something out of her pocket, a pen he realized as she started to write quickly on her hand.  After a long few moments she stared right at the camera and smiled before holding up her hand. 

The Doctor gasped, not at the words, but at the quirk of the lip.  The tilt of the eyebrow.  It was so familiar it was painful.

“Gallifreyan, again,” Clara said, frowning as she was unable to read it.  The Doctor nodded,smiling and pushed his chair back, taking a long last look at the image of the girl on the screen before turning and heading towards the door.  He heard a quiet gasp and Clara jumped to follow. 

“Doctor?” Clara said, quickening her pace to catch up.  “Doctor?  Do you know who they are?”  He did, or at least he had a very good educated guess.  “Doctor?” Clara continued, “was that really–?  Is that your wife?”  It was.  His hearts leaped in his chest at the realization.  It was indeed his wife, in body and mind, he hoped.  Yanked, at least partially, from this giant computer that surrounded them. 

He was almost giddy, but he couldn’t let that show.  He wasn’t bowtie.  And there was that issue in the end.  River had been utterly devoted to bowtie.  So much so that she’d never considered anything else.  Neither had he, because he’d known the end.  But he hadn’t, not really.  But he wouldn’t let himself think of that.  He wouldn’t focus on it.  River was apparently alive, and that was really all that mattered. 

He stopped in front of a computer terminal by the main entrance.  He smiled, typing the keys to bring up the link to the mainframe again.  He could almost see the image of CAL smiling at him from down in the basement. 

“What are you doing?” Clara asked as he pulled his little computer drive from his pocket and plugged it into the terminal. 

“As I was told,” he said to his companion, seeing the confusion on her face.  “I’m putting River back into the computer, a copy of her to be safe here, always. And to ensure the system stays stable.”

Clara frowned, looking around for a minute and the library staff were appearing around him, even more confused than his poor Clara.  “As you were…? Who?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. 

He arched one back just because he could. 

He pulled his drive from the computer and started down the hallway again.  He smirked as he turned his head, angling his answer over his shoulder.  “My daughter.”

* * *

 

She struggled to get the words right.  Gallifreyan was difficult enough when one had time to write out the intricate circles and connectors.  Trying to do it while her mother gasped for breath behind her, the newly formed lungs not yet knowing how to work, was terrifying.

But it was essential that the step be taken, that the library carry on. 

She made the last circle as the word “hurry” was hissed at her.  The coughing had started, lungs filling with fluid that the body hadn’t yet figured out how to handle.  She drew the last connector and stared up at the camera. 

She had it right.  She knew it.  And if she didn’t, he’d understand what she meant.  Despite it all, he always knew what she was trying to say.

She smiled and held up her hand.

 


	4. Meetings

One man’s ‘magic’ is another man’s engineering. – Robert Heinlein

 

After the call had ended, he thought of his sister interacting with the Doctor on Grandion IV, goading him into following her.  Leading him to the library, putting their mother back. There were so many steps.  So many things that could go wrong. It couldn't work – but then it already had.  He leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes and let the quiet hum of the computers surround him.  This was his home.  Electronics, putting things together, building, establishing.  All this running around, this adventure, was better suited to other members of his family. 

He took another long breath.  He needed to check on his mother.  He needed to make sure that the doctors, the best actual medical doctors in the universe, were taking care of her.  Keeping her comfortable while she healed herself.  There wasn't much more they could do.  She was a miracle.  The case studies that were about to be written up on her.  She’d fill volumes.  He’d read some of them before they’d started this.  It had been comforting to figure out exactly what the two of them were going to do. 

He reached for the handle, easing the door open just as a face appeared in the doorway. He screamed, jumping backwards, scaring her in the process. 

“Bloody hell!” he said leaning against one of the metal shelving units.  His sister slipped in after him, shutting the door so they didn't draw too much attention to themselves. 

“What the hell?” she said, glaring at him across the barely lit space. “Why are you screaming?”

“Why are you sneaking up on me? I was just on the phone with you!  You were on Grandion, getting ready to talk to the Doctor.”

She smirked, and he saw the gleam in her eye that said she’d accomplished something.  She must have been aiming for this, aiming for the second she got off the phone with him, and she’d gotten pretty damn close. 

“Idiot,” he said, pushing past her and out the door.  He tried to take a deep breath to calm his pounding hearts, but the smell of disinfectant made him choke.  He coughed as she appeared next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “Scaring you wasn't intentional.” 

He nodded, not really believing her, and they started down the hallway. 

“He’ll have headed to the library now,” he said as they pushed open the door into the small hospital room.  “We need to get out of the way. She’ll be awake soon.”

She nodded, walking over to the hospital bed, reaching up to gently pull on one of the soft blond curls. “It’s amazing what she’s doing,” his sister whispered, fingers moving to brush across a cheek.

He smiled. “Well, she did have some help.  You had to finish connecting all of her organs together on the way here.  It would have been a pointless journey without that piece of _magic.”_

She smirked at him over her shoulder.  “You had to sit here and fix her lungs when they went all wonky.”  The smile slowly slips from her face.  “And you got to talk to her.” 

He nods, moving closer to the bed to take at his mother’s hand.  She shuffled, her fingers gently closing around his.  “And your face was the first thing she saw when she regained consciousness,” he spoke up, easing his fingers free and taking a deep breath.  “She tells you as much all the time, you just didn't understand the context until now.”

His sister snorted and pulled her hand back.  “Yeah, dropping hints to save her life my whole life.  That’s Mum.”  She took a long look and then met his eyes.  “You’re her favorite, though” she said simply, with no hint of jealousy or malice.  In some regards it was true, in others he had a much better relationship with their father.  The father-daughter bond in their family had always been a tumultuous one, and he didn’t anticipate that ever changing. 

“We need to get the Tardis ready,” he said.  “Set her up for what’s next.”

“You know she doesn't actually need our help with that,” his sister said, falling into step beside him. “She can lead him here without us, we simply need to clear her out of the way.” 

He did know that, but there was something his sister didn’t know.  Something she probably never would.  He needed to redirect the Tardis, for just a few minutes.  There was a conversation that still needed to be had.  

They exited through one of the hospital service entrances and he immediately spotted the Tardis tucked neatly behind one of the building supports.  He glanced over at his sister and noticed the smile on her face. She was definitely getting better at parking.  Finally. 

He slipped the key in and entered, the Tardis humming calmly around at their safe return.  A couple of their childhood drawings were still spread across the room.  They made him smile. 

“Why don’t we put those back,” he said, thinking of the arts and craft room they’d enjoyed so much when they were children.  He’d turned it into a makeshift workshop now, but those treasured drawings never disappeared for long. 

Slowly the images started to disappear around them.  His sister snorted and he looked over to see her bending over to pick something up from one of the steps.  She turned and held them out to him.  He chuckled. 

Gifts from the Tardis, courtesy of their father, he suspected.  The father that knew them, suspected what they were doing now, even if they hadn't told him.  He had known it was coming.  She held in one hand a shining silver caliper, the wording on the side a mix of English, Gallifreyan, and something he didn't recognize, but that translated quickly.  In the other hand it was a black wand with white on each tip.  A magician’s wand, just like the show they’d seen on Earth when they were children.  When their father had almost broken time to introduce them to their grandparents, long before they were their grandparents. 

“The Engineer and the Magician,” he said shaking his head and meeting his sister’s eyes. 

“The Engineer and the Magician,” she repeated before propping the tools on the console in direct view of anyone coming in the door.  Another smirk crossed her face and her eyes locked on the empty wall opposite the door.  A large blank space between two bookcases. 

“Do you remember the graffiti?” she asked, walking around the console and up the stairs.  “The stuff that appeared on the wall when we were kids.  We thought Mum and Dad had written it for us…”

He did remember and he also remembered his dad being furious about it, yelling at both their mother and the Tardis.  He’d been so angry he refused to go anywhere with them until the words disappeared.  They did almost immediately, and he’d noticed that their mother’s relief as well. 

“It wasn't Mum and Dad,” she finished taking the final step onto the landing.  A second later she held a larger marker up and showed it to him.  “I think it was us.  God knows I spent years trying to copy that giant swirl.” 

He grinned too, she was right of course. 

He followed after her, watching her push a chair up and scrawl her elaborate signature on the wall.  The ‘M’ curling in a way, right at the beginning, that immediately confirmed the childhood memory.

Her words slanted upwards, loopy and lopsided and so utterly hers.  His would look completely different.  She kicked the chair away and he stepped to the wall.  He pressed the marker against the surface, the Tardis almost buzzing at the contact.  After a moment he stepped back, admiring their handy work. 

“The Engineer” written perfectly linear across the wall, and ‘The Magician’ angling upwards from the same starting part, forming an almost 45 degree angle.  It was perfect. 

“That’s for him, old girl,” he said and knew the Tardis was already ahead of them.  The words would certainly appear in the past, probably just as the Doctor left the library.  He sighed, pocketing the marker and turning to his sister.  “Now we just have to get the video up and we can return the Tardis.  And since you've become so proficient at timing, perhaps we can return it right after we took it.  Avoid all the hassle and the yelling.” 

She smirked. “And all the ‘Rule One: Do. Not. Steal. The. Tardis.’”

* * *

 

Clara was almost jogging to keep up, randomly reaching for the Doctor to slow him down, but unable to make contact.  She’d never seen this version like this, so excited, giddy really.

“Doctor,” she called after him as they turned down the last hall headed towards the Tardis.  “Where are we going?”

“To River,” he asked, his voice almost singing with answer.  “We are, Impossible Girl, going to see my wife.” 

_Rather impossible as well,_ Clara though as she slid into the Tardis behind him.  For the second time that day she almost ran straight into his back.  Certainly he couldn't still be surprised by the draw… She stopped dead, having pushed around him. 

The drawings were gone.  All of them.  Instead, in glaring black on the other side of the console were two huge signatures spanning the length of the wall. 

“The Engineer and the Magician?” she questioned, taking a step towards the writing.  Somebody had been on the Tardis while they’d been in the library.  “What the hell does…”  He reached a hand out to stop her, pointing at the console.  There was a magician’s wand and a shiny silver tool leaning there.  Then she spotted it, a flashing light on the console that wasn’t usually flashing.  In fact, she struggled to remember the hundreds of times she’d stood there before.  She didn’t remember ever seeing a light there at all. 

The doctor took a shaking step forward, and then another one.  He was frowning now, a sharp contrast to the man in the hallway just a few seconds before.  He was alert, nervous. 

He reached and slapped the light with his palm.  The monitor spun around almost hitting him on the head as an image appeared. 

“Hospital,” Clara said the image of River lying in a bed appearing and he started nodding, moving around the console to start typing into the keyboard.

“Shut up. Shut up.  Wait!  I need a date or coordinates,” he said as she kept watching the screen.  There was nothing, just the image of River lying in the bed.  She didn’t appear to be breathing or even moving. 

“A year!” he shouted and she glanced at him. “Coordinates, Clara, I need coordinates!”   Clara didn’t have any.  But they’d just released her.  Just freed River from the library. 

“It would have to be this year wouldn’t it?” she said. 

 “They used the Tardis,” he growled, gesturing to the wall behind him.  “That’s what they’re telling us.  They have my Tardis.  They could have taken her to anywhere, anytime.” 

“There’s a man,” Clara said, staring at the image on the screen.  “Oh god, it’s the man, the one from the library.”  The Doctor darted around staring at the screen just as the man looked up at the camera. He looked different from the girl, but not much older, if at all.  He looked more nervous, Clara realized.  Less defiant.  

He held up a sign, more Gallifreyan.  Clara glanced at the Doctor, waiting for a translation, but his eyes didn’t seem to see it.  Didn’t seem to see the boy or the sign.  His arm came up, his finger pointing at the top corner of the screen. 

“That’s wrong,” he said frowning.  Clara stared at it, realizing it was some sort of monitor.  “She’s in distress,” he said frowning and darting back around to the keyboard.  “They made a mess of it,” he shouted, typing frantically.

“What does it say?” she asked, the young man dropping the sign and moving to sit in a chair next to the bed.  Clara kept her eyes glued to the screen, but received no answer.  “What did the sign… Oh god, she’s waking up.”  Clara pointed and the Doctor came back around.  A moment later the boy sprang into action.  His hand landed in the middle of River’s chest and a glow filled the room.

“Is he…” Clara cut herself off, the glow disappearing as River laid back on the mattress a warm smile crossing her face.  A second later the boy leaned over and placed a kiss into River’s hair and the screen went dark. 

Clara looked up at the Doctor and was shocked to see he was positively ashen. 

“What did it say?” Clara asked again, feeling a tear drop down her cheek.  She reached up to wipe it away, and the Doctor’s eyes darted to her face watching the gesture. 

“You know where to, old girl,” he said, and it wasn't until the Tardis sprang to life that she realized he was answering her question.   The Tardis was leading the way. 

* * *

 

The Doctor frowned as he glanced at Clara.  She looked as out of sorts as he felt and he didn't like that.  He should have taken her home, should have right after the sunrises.  This was his quest, his burden. 

She wouldn't have gone though, he knew that.  And she couldn't go to this place.  He wondered if that was why it had been chosen.  It must have been. 

“You can’t go out there,” he said, gesturing towards the door.  “It is a toxic environment for a human.” 

She shook her head. “Then what about River? You said she was mostly human.  She wouldn't be able…”

“River isn't here,” he said, and it wasn't the toxicity of the environment that told him as much.  He couldn't feel her.  The air wasn't buzzing with the River energy that he’d know anywhere. 

“Then who is?  This could all be a trap?”  He nodded.  It very well could be, but it was the single best trap in the history of the universe, better even than that mess with the Pandorica.  He wouldn’t hesitate to step out of those door if it might even, for even the smallest of known measurements, lead him to River. 

He glanced at Clara one more time, put in the sequence for the Tardis to deliver Clara home and shut herself off if he wasn't to return, and headed towards the door.

“Wait,” Clara said, trying to run past him.  He pushed through the door and heard Clara stop behind him. The odor would prevent her from going further.  It would be enough to make her close the door and allow the Tardis ventilation system to clear the air. 

The sulfur stung his eyes and he moved through the smoke, his felt his respiratory system adjust itself to handle the changing air. 

The cavern was dark, but the ceiling sparkling.  Almost beautiful.  An asteroid, he suspect, maybe a moon.  The coordinates has been unclear, a moving target.  He pulled his sonic out of his pocket and started taking readings.  He kept glancing at it as he moved forwards, the sulfur smell slowly fading into something less overpowering, but still not…

“Hello,” the voice interrupted his thoughts and he spun to his left to see the boy sitting in an over sized stuffed chair.

 

 

 

 


	5. Found

Every son quotes his father, in words and in deeds.  -- Terri Guillemets

“Hello,” the Doctor replied, discreetly trying to hold his sonic in the direction of the young man.  Green eyes shone, indicating that the boy had caught on quickly.  He grinned, but didn’t protest. 

“I doubt it will tell you anything you haven’t already realized,” the young man said, shifting slightly in the chair.

The Doctor continued to stare at him, slowly pacing to the side, examining the cavern and the boy at the same time. 

“What is this place?” he asked after a moment, seeing absolutely nothing distinguishing about it. 

The boy shrugged and let his own eyes wander.  “An asteroid on the Hambeloe belt.  Nothing special, really, but you’ll need to remember the coordinates.  It’s important for later.”

“Later?” the Doctor asked, “The only later that I’m interested in is getting to my wife at Schism and finding out exactly how you’ve ruined her.”

The boy frowned a moment, before nodding. “You don’t really understand it yet,” he started, standing and stretching, “but we didn’t ruin her.  We didn’t heal her either, not really.  We,” he paused, searching for the word before smirking as he shook his head.  “Delivered her, would probably be the most correct term, but obviously most humans don’t spring forth fully grown.”  He paused again, and let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Just get a joke?” the Doctor asked.  “Your hair maybe?” He eyed the coarse dark curls. 

The boy laughed, a full bellied sound that echoed around the cavern.

“Says the man who used to wear a celery boutonniere?”

The Doctor frowned. 

“Anyway,” the boy continued, stepping away from the chair and starting to pace around.  “We’ve had to help her along the way, the transporter wasn’t as strong as we’d anticipated.  Truthfully rather antiquated, given what the library will have.”

“Then why not go to then,” the Doctor demanded. 

“The timing had to be very specific,” the boy said.  “I guess it isn’t really spoilers since it is in your past, even if you aren’t aware of it.  But less than a year after we rescued her, the library changed its entire matrix.  It becomes one of the best in all the universe and all data previous to the transition is so secure it’s impossible to get through.  And it’s why you had to put her back.  Her matrix is a stabilizer for the system.  It won’t survive the transition without her.”  The boy paused, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground, then glanced up smiling. 

“Plus, she hasn’t done Trenzalore yet.  You, the alternate you, needs her there for that, or else you’ll just dive into your time stream and end the whole thing before it begins.”

“Spoilers,” the Doctor whispered thinking of his encounter with his wife’s echo and suddenly having an idea of why she didn’t just fade. 

“Spoilers,” the boy said, smirking at him. 

“She isn’t going to like that,” the Doctor said.  “She isn’t going to like an echo of herself stuck there.” 

“You didn’t consider that the first time,” his son replied.  “But you’ll tell her what happened on Trenzalore.  She’ll know she has to save you.  And that’s her purpose really.  Kill you.  Save you.”

“Marry me,” The doctor adds.  His son nods, conceding.

“And she’ll want the library saved.  CAL saved. She’ll understand.”

“And the rest of it.  _Resurrecting_ her?  You figured it out?” the Doctor asks, starting to walk again until he and the boy are almost circling each other. 

Another odd expression and the boy smirked.  “Resurrection, that hardly sounds like a role for an engineer,” he said. 

“But it does sound like a _magic_ trick,” the Doctor all but spat. 

The smirk turned into a grin.  “Perhaps,” the Engineer said, “But bringing people back from the dead sounds like the work of a Doctor to me.”

The Doctor frowned, feeling his brow furrowing.  He couldn’t read the boy, not really.  Just like he hadn’t been able to read the girl.  It unnerved him to not understand, to not fully comprehend the outcome or his role in it.  He hated not having any cards, so he decided to take some. 

“I’m alarmed to learn that my _children_ aren’t any more obedient this go round.” 

The boy’s smile just grew.  “Actually,” he said shrugging his shoulders as he stopped walking.  “I’m alarmingly obedient, really.  Her, she is going to give you some problems.  But despite how you often react, you do really admire her.  Adore her, actually.  Although she could do with hearing it more.  She doubts.”

“Spoilers,” The Doctor hissed. 

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t believe it.  Well then anyway.  She has you fooled.  Everyone fooled.  She learned to hide from the best.”

It wasn’t intended to be an accusation but it hit the Doctor square in the chest, aching in the vacuum between his hearts.  His son must have seen something on his face because the consistent smile faltered and he took a step, closing part of the distance between them. 

“I didn’t mean you,” he added.  “I meant her, well, Mum.  Your memories of her have glossed over a bit, but you’ll see.  Boy, will you see.”  His smile returned and he turned heading back towards the chair.  For the first time the Doctor noticed the black band on his arm.  The vortex manipulator, River’s vortex manipulator.  He’d recognize it anywhere.  It was currently tucked neatly into one of his dresser drawers on the Tardis.  The one he never opened.  The one that he’d packed her things neatly into and soniced closed.  “That’s part of the reason I had to meet you.  Give her time. Mum, I mean.  I know you will anyway, you love her too much not to, but you deserve a warning.  We’ve done something amazing, but parts of it will be hard for her. And…”

“She’ll hide it,” they said in unison.  His son nodded at him.  The Doctor understood, he’d have figured it out on his own eventually, but the boy was probably right.  He was too euphoric over the return of his wife to think of anything else. 

“I suppose I told you that we had this conversation?” the Doctor asked, “Then me, your father?”

Another smirk as he plopped down into the chair, crossing his denim clad legs.  “You told me that I clued you into this place the very first time we met.  It was how you knew how to find…” his son trailed off, shaking his head having obviously said too much.  “Let’s just say,” he started again, “there will be a point will you are going to lose something very, very important to you. In a mix of fear and anger it was put here.  When you lose it, this is where it will be.  You said I’d told you how to find it, and that our first meeting involved a very interesting conversation.”  He gestured with his hands at their surroundings.  “I’d say we had that.  Wouldn’t you?”

“What do I lose?” the Doctor asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. 

“Spoilers,” was just the reply he’d expected and as the word slipped easily from his son’s lips it panged through his chest with an air of River. River. 

The boy’s smile softened and he stood up, completely closing the distance between them.  He was carrying something and the doctor glanced at it, frowning before being distracted by his son’s proximity.  The boy stood as tall as the Doctor, his frame lankier, more like bow tie, but not.  He probably wasn’t done growing the Doctor realized, although he couldn’t be specific with an age estimation.  Too much time with humans had altered his memories of Time Lord development.  And with a mixed species, he really had no idea.

They stared at each other, River’s green eyes sparking back at him.  After a moment his son reached out his hand, holding the too familiar blue diary. 

“She’ll want this back,” his son said and the Doctor took it, hand shaking. 

His son smiled at him and the Doctor reached out, wrapping his arms around the young man.  The hug not nearly as awkward as the ones Clara always insisted on, the contact with his son not at all uncomfortable. 

This didn’t feel like hiding faces.  It felt like what he was supposed to do.  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his son, wishing for just a moment he’d done the same thing to that young girl when she’d interrupted his sunrises.  He would though. 

After a moment his son pulled back, the smile still firmly in place.  The Doctor squeezed the skinny arms and smiled himself. 

“The Tardis will take you there now,” the boy said, gesturing over the Doctor’s shoulder towards the blue box. 

The urge to stay fought with the urge to go, but he took a deep breath and released his son’s arms.  The sooner he got to River, the sooner the rest of this would begin. 

* * *

 

“What’s that?” Clara asked as he set the book reverently on the console.  She reached for it and his fingers snapped around her wrist, pushing her hand off. 

“Don’t touch. River’s,” he said, glaring.  She frowned as he started to push at the levers.  “She left it with me a long time ago.”

“Did you leave it here?” she asked, gesturing towards the door and he frowned again, thinking. 

“No,” he said shortly, punching more buttons and the Tardis started to hum.  Clara frowned, she didn’t like this new, no guidance needed machine. 

The Doctor reached for the book again, folding it in against his chest.  Clara watched him, struggling to read the emotions that flew across his face. 

“What was out there?” she asked gesturing back towards the door and the vacated toxic wonderland.  “What you find back there in sulfur pit?”

“Spoilers,” he said, smiling at her as the whomping of the Tardis stopping filled their ears.  As the machine stopped, a sharp smirk crossed his face.  He took a deep breath and moved around her, grabbing her hand, the now unusual contact surprising her as he pulled her behind him.  He pushed the door open and stopped dead, his fingers tightened around hers.

A closet, she’d guess peaking over his shoulder, or in the loo.  But through the open door was a hospital bed.  River was lying in it, her mess of blond curls spread over the pillow.  Clara focused on her face.  The Doctor’s wife looked peaceful in sleep, but she still looked ill.  There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin alarmingly pale, with a slight yellow tinting.

“River,” the Doctor whispered, his fingers suddenly shaking around Clara’s.  His whole body rigid next to her.  She squeezed, hoping it was an encouraging gesture, but he didn’t move. 

“Doctor?” she prodded quietly and he nodded, fingers gripping tight while the other hand pressed the blue book tightly to his chest.  She moved around him so she could see his face.  It was alarming.  He was pale, pupils blown as he stared.  “Doctor,” she said again, reaching her free hand up to cup his cheek. 

The contact was enough.  His eyes darted to hers, tears brimming in them as a huge grin spread across his face.  He leaned forward suddenly placing an unexpected kiss on Clara’s forehead before releasing her hand and heading towards the bed. 

He put the blue book on the bedside table as he swiveled the chair around and sat down.  He eased the covers out of the way and freed River’s hand that was closest to him.  He replaced the blanket as best he could and as Clara moved to the end of the bed he wrapped his hand around hers bringing her knuckles to his lips. 

“My beautiful River,” he said quietly.  “Look at you,” he continued.  “Amazing. Wonderful. River.  I never should have doubted.  Nothing beat you for long.  Ever.”  He kissed her hand again and leaned his elbows on the mattress. 

With a wave of emotion Clara felt like she was intruding.

He reached his hand up and pushed an errant curl behind River’s ear. “And your hair.  This wonderfully insane hair.  It’s a mess, honey, worse than anything the manipulator ever did to it.  You’re going to be so angry when you see it.  This impossible hair.”  He pulled gently on another curl and it bounced back and the Doctor let at an almost disbelieving chuckle.  “My River.” 

Clara watched him another moment as he traced the back of his fingers softly over River’s cheek.  Her pale face turned into the contact a hint of a smile crossing over sleeping lips.  Clara felt her own eyes fill with tears at the sweet moment and she moved back to the Doctor.  She placed a kiss on the top of his head and patted his shoulder.  “I’m going to go find some coffee,” she said and headed toward the hospital door. 

 


	6. Dawn

 

Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven. – Tyron Edwards.

 

The Doctor frowned, reaching up to pull the blankets up closer to River’s chin.  She was cold to the touch, not alarmingly so, but enough that it made him uncomfortable.  Although it shouldn’t surprise him, not really.  He’d been startled awake on more than one occasion by a cold foot brushing up his calf as she slept, or a cold hand weaseling its way under his shirt.  But this had none of the pleasantness he associated with being touched by his wife; she was just cold.

 _It’s almost,_ the hospital doctor had said, _almost like an infant born prematurely.  Everything wasn’t formed fully, connections still not complete.  Everything seems to be working now. It’s just, really we’ve never seen anything like this before.  We’re bringing in…”_

The Doctor had stopped paying attention then, focusing on his wife and her smooth skin and her coloring that seemed to get better every minute.  She was still sleeping soundly, but it was sleep.  Not a coma or even the deep sleep of the very ill.  She shifted easily on her mattress, quiet snores escaping her. 

She just seemed so cold.

Eventually her doctor had left and a nurse had popped in, poked at the monitors and asked if he’d want dinner.  No, he wouldn’t, he remembered from the last time he’d sat at her bedside.  After Berlin, when he’d snuck back to make sure she was fine. 

He’d never told the Ponds that.  He’d never told River either.

Clara had wandered off again; he vaguely remembered something about sleep and assumed she’d made her way back to the Tardis.  He’d take her home soon.  A quick turnaround, there and back.  He wanted to talk to River first though.  He wanted her to see him, to know he was here and waiting. 

But he was nervous about her seeing him like this.  About her reaction to the new guy, despite everything he’d witnessed today.  Despite the fact that they had children.  That didn’t mean the road would be easy.

He’d done this for her after all.  He understood that now. Ageless god. Twelve year old.  For her and because he was scared of what he was feeling for Clara.  Afraid of what feeling things for Clara meant about River.  He hadn’t been ready to move on.  And he was glad of that now.

He brought her hand to his lips again and kissed her palm.  He’d done the same thing at Dallirium while the Towers sang. The memory of it ached through his chest in a way it hadn’t in years.  In a way it hadn’t since he’d finally left his cold dark cloud. 

He flattened her hand and traced his fingers over the delicate lines, amazed that even these had been regenerated to perfection by the transporter and the crude stick device he’d have to set about creating as soon as River woke up. 

“I’ll take you to that spa planet,” he whispered.  “We’ll have massages and the feet thing and whatever else you want.  We can stay for days and I’ll be patient and not nag.  I don’t nag anymore,” he swallowed.  “Not the way that bowtie did.  I know you always liked it though, a bit anyway.”  He reached a hand up and pushed her hair off her forehead again. 

She flinched at the contact, and his breath caught.  Her face contorted as she sucked in a deep breath.  He’d watched this routine a thousand times.  He’d studied her sleeping more dutifully than he’d ever done anything in his entire long life.  It had been one of his greatest pleasures, and he’d get to do it all over again. 

She stretched, letting out a yawn as her fingers gripped his tighter.  A smile crossed her face in the split second before she opened her eyes and met his.  He smiled back, ecstatic and panicked in the same moment.   She was alive.  Wonderfully, beautifully alive.  He wasn’t the man she’d married.

She studied him for a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak just as a look of true pain crossed her face. 

“Oh my god,” she said her voice was rough, scratchy, but decidedly hers.  Tears filled her eyes.  His heart sank.  She snatched her hand out of his and reached for his face.  “Sweetie,” she said, thumb brushing his cheek.  “What happened?  Are you…”

Worried about him.  She’d been dead yesterday and she was worried about his regeneration.

“I’m fine,” he said turning his head to kiss her palm again.  “I’ll tell you all about it.  But we need to be worried about you now, Ms. Song.”

“Trenzalore?” she asked.  He sighed and nodded and she was confused.  Eleven should have been his last.  She’d studied it, studied him, and obviously never learned there was anything afterwards. 

She hadn’t been there yet.  And this River, this alive River, probably never would.

“I was given another go,” he said, smiling at her.  “But that doesn’t matter.  You…”

“How did you get me out?” she asked.  “Where is…? I didn’t even know…”

“Later,” he said, standing up so he could lean over and kiss her.  He needed a minute, needed the quiet.  Her hand fisted his lapel, holding him in place. Her lips were chapped, rough but tender.   Her lips moved with his and the sensation tingled through his body.  So familiar and so much better than he remembered. 

He leaned back, he had to or he would wrap his body around her and never let her go. 

“Professor,” she whispered as he placed his forehead against hers. 

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Professor Song, to you,” she said, green eyes sparkling. 

He laughed, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek as he kissed her forehead.  “Professor Song,” he mumbled into her curls.  “My god have I missed you.” 

“How long?” she asked, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.  He couldn’t talk about that.  He wouldn’t. Not yet. 

“Too long,” he managed burying his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of her.  It was the same.  Warm. Familiar.  River. 

“Sweetie…” she started but the sound of the door opening interrupted her. 

“Doctor,” he heard Clara say, “Something’s going on in the Tard… oh.” 

He planted a kiss above River’s ear and turned to look at his companion.  She was wearing her owl pajamas and had a green mask on her face and her hair a mess on top of her head.  He moved to the side a bit and felt River’s grip tighten on his jacket. 

“Doctor?” Clara asked, taking a step towards them and the Doctor nodded.

“Wife,” he said twining his fingers with River’s and moving so she could completely see Clara.  “Clara, my companion.  Clara, my wife, Professor River Song.” 

To her credit, Clara plastered a smile on her face and closed the distance next to the bed. 

“Hello,” Clara said, bouncing slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, or meet you at all I should say.  He talks about you all the time.” 

The Doctor looked down at his wife and saw the small smirk cross her face.  Clara must have seen something too, because she stopped bouncing, fumbling awkwardly with her hands. 

“So never heard of me ‘til this morning?” River asked, squeezing the Doctor’s fingers affectionately. 

Clara met the Doctor’s eyes and he gave a slight nod, too soon to start giving away information.  His impossible girl would understand, she always did. 

Clara shrugged, nodding.  “Well, not this morning, no.  He told me ages ago you once made him live with otters.” 

River laughed, tipping her head back into the pillows.  It was a wondrous sound that made the Doctor’s heart sing.  Clara met his eyes again, smiling herself. 

And then River winced, grabbing at her chest.   He pulled away, leaning over her, panic rising in his chest again.  She started to cough and he pointed at the door, sending Clara after a doctor.

She’d taken three steps towards the door when River stopped her.  “No,” his wife managed between breaths.  The coughing calming as she straightened up in bed.  “I’m fine,” she said cupping the Doctor’s cheek as she leaned back against the headboard.  “Just caught up with me.” Her breathing was a bit wheezy and the Doctor eyed her suspiciously.  River lied as well, or better, than he did.  And they’d never addressed her damned ‘Hide the Damage” madness. 

“It happened before,” she said seeing the concern in his eyes.  “There was someone here then.” she shook her head, curls rustling.  “I don’t know who, but he helped.  This wasn’t nearly as bad.”

 _Our son._ The Doctor thought.  _He regenerated your lungs.  I’ve seen the video._

“All right,” the Doctor said as River beamed at him, finding his hand again before she looked back to Clara. 

“Did he tell you how much he loved those stupid otters?  Wanted to bring them all on the Tardis with us, turn the pool into a pond for them to frolic in.” His wife met his eyes again as he settled back in the chair.  “Idiot,” she finished. 

Clara snorted and he glared over his shoulder at her.  She was his companion.  It was bad enough the Tardis always sided with River.  He didn’t need Clara becoming all turncoat as well.

 “No,” Clara said, smirking.  “He left that part out.”

River grinned.  “Of course he did.” 

He grumbled under his breath as he sat on the mattress next to his wife, trying to act more insulted than he felt.  River laughed again, pulling on his hand. 

“You are thoroughly Scottish aren’t you?  Mummy would be proud.”  He rolled his eyes and snatched his hand back. 

“Don’t pester, wife, it’s unbecoming.”  River snorted and he stood up.  “Let me go round up one of these medical professionals to give you a look.”  He could have just hit the button, he knew, but he wanted to pick the one who came.  He leaned over and planted a kiss in her curls.  He felt her tug gently on his jacket as he pulled back and he understood.  A simple request to come back quickly. 

He would.

Halfway down the hallway he pushed open a door and found the server room.  A huge computer running the most complex hospital in the history of the universe.  He closed the door behind him and stood in the dark and the cold. 

After a long moment he sank to the floor.  And sobbed.

* * *

 

Clara stepped back out of the Tardis, having realized a minute after the Doctor left that she was still wearing her cleansing mask. She’d rushed in, taken it off and quickly threw on some regular clothes.  Meeting the Doctor’s wife in owl pajamas wasn’t exactly what she’d planed. 

The wife hadn’t seemed to mind though. 

“He’s not back?” Clara said and River looked over at her and smiled.

“No,” River said, settling lower on the pillows.  She was looking tired and Clara suspected she was just waiting on her husband before sleeping again.  “He’s going to need a few minutes.  Overwhelming day.” 

Clara nodded and slowly took the chair next to the bed.  She wasn’t entirely sure what River meant, but there was a knowing look on her face as she glanced at the door.  Clara recognized it from the ‘conference’ call with Vastra before Trenzalore.  The slightly smug smile on River’s face when she declared she knew the Doctor’s name. 

A small declaration that she, River Song, knew the Doctor best.  She had then.  But that was before.  That was Eleven.  And sitting with her now, there was none of that smugness or playfulness.  Just a simple smile of knowledge and understanding. 

“How long have you been with him?” River asked turning back to Clara and smiling. 

Clara huffed, shaking her head.  “That’s complicated,” she answered truthfully. 

“When isn’t it with the Doctor?” River replied, yawning. 

“True,” Clara replied, before sighing.  “I’ve met him many times,” she said, opting for the truth.  “I’m wrapped up in his timeline, long story, but I’m born and die all over again, often interacting with different versions of the Doctor.”  River’s eyebrow rose, and Clara realized she’d peaked her interest.  “He found me this time,” she said, “trying to work out the puzzle. It was after he lost you.” She hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath.  “Before his regeneration though, awhile before really.” 

River nodded, her lips quirking before she settled down into the pillows again.  Her attention turned back to the ceiling.  She suddenly looked very tired again. The quiet gave Clara a moment to wonder if she’d said too much and how River would use the information to tie into what she knew about the Doctor.

“What’s changed?” River asked quietly, drawing Clara’s attention back to the moment. 

“Pardon?” Clara asked. 

River nodded towards the door.  “What’s changed this regeneration?  How’s he different?”  She paused, her face crinkling.  “Please tell me the fish sticks and custard is gone.”

Clara laughed, relaxing a bit into the chair. 

“Yes,” she answered.  “Thankfully.  Oh, that smell.” River nodded, understanding.  “But,” Clara started again, but found herself struggling.  She met the Professor’s green eyes and shrugged.  “I don’t know, a lot,” she said truthfully.  “But then not much.  I know that doesn’t make…”

“It makes perfect sense,” River said, fingers pulling the blanket up.  “He’s still the Doctor.”

“Yes,” Clara said, turning her attention to the machines.  Green lines charted everything going on with the woman in front of her.  The woman who knew the Doctor, Clara suspected, best. 

“He doesn’t like hugs anymore,” she started looking down to meet River’s eyes.  “Hiding faces, he calls it.  But he’s accepted he doesn’t always get a say.”  River smiled at her.  “He doesn’t do touching at all really, or rather is much more hesitant about it.  Less boisterous, more reserved.” She paused, bringing up memories and making comparisons.  She remembered being so devastated that he was going to regenerate, that he was going to change.  And now the two had melded together in her mind.  The same and different. 

“He’s not good with faces,” she said.  “Like at all. He’s gotten better with me, but I can’t stand too close to Strax or he gets confused because of our heights.”  River laughed, again.  “But he’s gotten better with that too.  Vastra and Jenny are no longer the green one and the not green one.” 

Another pause, and Clara shook her head. 

“I don’t know.  I used to think he was angrier, but I don’t think that’s right.  Sadder, I think is better.  Meaner, less tolerant of stupid things.  More direct if you can believe it.  But softer too.  Kind in ways I don’t think he understood before.  Patient in ways that he wasn’t.  More pain, less secrets.  But he carries it the way everyone does.  It’s a part of him now, instead of buried or denied.”  River frowned as she glanced at the door.  She wondered for a moment if River would like the new version.  If she would love him as much as he still loved her.  It was complicated in ways that Clara couldn’t imagine, loving a man and watching him change. 

The door swung open, Clara glanced up to see the Doctor charging through again.  He held his hand up in the air snapping his long fingers.  Clara glanced back at River, surprised to see a huge smile plastered across her face.  No hint of the concern that had been there just a second ago. 

“Did you find a _real_ doctor?” River asked.

The Doctor dropped his arms and shook his head.  “Yes, wife,” he hissed, grin not leaving his face as he walked around the side of the bed and leaning down to kiss her.  “A medical professional will be in shortly to examine you. The orange one unfortunately who fancies you,” he sighed, winking at Clara and letting her in on the joke.  “You’re quite the study it seems.  Hundreds of years dead and now alive.  You, dearest professor, are breaking the rules again.” 

River’s grin grew.

“But sleep now, I’m going to run Clara home and will pop right back.” 

“So next week,” River joked, eyes heavy.

“No,” he replied, reaching down to push an errant curl behind his wife’s ear.  “I’m an excellent driver and will be right back.”

River raised her eyebrows.  “We’ll see,” she said.  

 

 


	7. The Backstory

Though lovers be lost love shall not – Dylan Thomas

 

The corridor was dark, a faint glow in the distance casting the only light around her.  It wasn’t enough.  She reached her hand out and touched the wall, letting the smooth surface be her anchor.   

“Doctor?” she called out.  She’d heard him, hadn’t she?  His last voice, not this one.  Not the Scotsman and not her Doctor.  The one from before, from Asgaard, from the library.  The last one she’d heard.  His companion had been there.  The funny one. 

“Doctor?” she called again as the swell of voices rose.  More than one, indistinguishable from one another. She stopped walking, focusing on the light. 

They were there.  They were all there, she could hear them. 

“Mother?” she prodded, positive she heard Amy among them.  She continued, fingers brushing along the wall, quickening her steps when she seemed to stop making progress. 

“Doctor?” she called for the third time, heart pounding in her chest, legs burning, arms aching. “Sweetie?” She poured her soul into the endearment, desperate for him to answer

She let go of the wall and started to run.  The hallway got longer.  The voices never changed.  She sped up, chest aching from her exertion, feet pounding on the floor.  She was hot, sweating, as her destination eluded her. 

Her foot caught.  She tripped, stumbling for a few steps before she landed on the metal floor.  It rattled beneath her and she winced.  The voices stopped, silence settled, and she looked up. 

They were watching her, all of them.  

Amy. Rory. The Doctors. Every one of them.  The scarf. The celery.  The one with the jacket that looked like unicorn vomit.  Spiky hair, standing next to one he’d loved, looking at River like he’d never seen her before.  That had hurt more than anything, ever.  The indifference, the disdain.  Her husband, her life, hadn’t known her. 

And he was there.  Hers, frowning at her, his arms wrapped around the new girl. The impossible one.  The young one.  The pretty one. 

“Sweetie,” she said, her voice catching.  She lifted her hand up, reaching for him.  He didn’t move. Just frowned.  He was young, before he knew her.  Before he understood. 

“Doctor,” she tried again, reaching. 

“Honey,” she heard.  A strange but warm voice.  “River?”

She reached for her husband, straining to get him.  To touch him.  But he wasn’t talking to her.  He took a step back, pulling Clara with him. 

She gasped, feeling a hand on her back.  Fingers cool on the back of her neck.  She snapped around, ready to fight. 

“Who–?” she demanded, spotting the face and recognizing him. 

“Doctor?” she whispered.  New face.  New smile. 

“River,” he replied, cupping her cheek.  “Wake…”

She snapped her eyes open and cried out.  He wasn’t smiling anymore.  His brow was furrowed, worry evident.  He was cupping her face, blue eyes darting all over, observing.  The locked with hers and he brushed a thumb across her cheek. 

More tears. 

“Doctor?” she managed and he nodded, watching her. 

“Nightmare,” he said releasing one cheek to place the back of his fingers on her forehead.  She tried to pull back, but he held tight.  “Your temperature is regulating.”  His fingers came off her forehead and grabbed the top blanket.  He threw it down and it slithered off the foot of the bed.  “Being too warm often triggered your nightmares.” 

A kiss to her forehead, lips soft as he lingered.  He smelled different, the scent was somehow familiar, still warm, but different.  She loved it, and it terrified her. 

He was different.  The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t known her. 

“River?” he asked, pulling back, thumb collecting more tears.  He was worried again.  She was being difficult.  Complicated.  She shook her head and he let her pull away. 

“It’s nothing,” she answered.  She scooted away putting a fraction of distance between them.  Clara’s words about touching rang in her ears suddenly and she ignored the internal voice pointing out that he’d done nothing but touch her since she woke up.  “Just the dream,” she said, wiping her own cheeks and forcing a smile onto her face.  “You know.  I was dead yesterday, so bound to be some unsettling thoughts.”  She swallowed hard, pushing the remnants of her pain and doubts away. 

The Doctor didn’t do unpleasant. 

“Did you,” she started, grabbing at anything to take his immediate attention off of her.  “Did you get your companion home, Clara?” 

“I did,” he said, eyeing her for another moment before settling back into his chair.  “Grabbed her some takeaway on the stop for being such a sport and picked up these.”  He gestured to the table and she smiled.  There was a huge bouquet of red, white, and pink roses filling in the space.  It was beautiful; she loved roses – Earth roses – and he remembered.  It was touching and so very opposite of what his previous self would have done.  The room wasn’t filled with every flower he could find in hopes that he’d managed to get one that she’d like.  This gesture was less grand, more personal. 

“Thank you,” she said, eyes lingering on them before dropping lower and landing on her journal.  “And you brought that.”  She reached, but wasn’t close enough.  He handed it to her. 

“And that,” he said.  She ran her fingers over the cover.  It felt the same as she remembered and so very different than it ever had in the database.  She opened it, the familiar smell reaching her nostrils.  She smiled and flipped quickly through the pages before letting it close.  She tucked it under her pillow, a place she’d often kept it in Stormcage, and turned her attention back to her new husband. 

He still looked worried but plastered a smile on his face.  It didn’t reach his eyes.  She’d seem similar looks before.  After the Ponds.  At Darillium.  She reached a hand out and cupped his face. 

“The last time I saw you was at the library,” she said.  She brushed her thumb across his cheek bone.  “I made you promise not to change a thing.  Did you do it properly then?” 

His smile grew, and he nuzzled his lips into her palm.  The gesture held an air of tenderness and longing that was welcome, but almost foreign between them. 

“I tried my best,” he answered.  “I’ve never been what you deserved though.  Still aren’t.” 

She smiled at that, his aching sentiment so apparent on his face.  It was very different from his previous version.  The one who avoided pain and failure at all cost.  He’d have pranced around over compensating and trying to woo her.  This was simple, meaningful in a different way, and she liked it. 

“Maybe,” she replied, smiling at him.  “But that’s never once changed the fact that you are everything I’ve always wanted.” 

He smirked, reaching for her hand and wrapping it between his. 

“Even now?” he asked, “Grey?  Scottish? Grumpy?  The eyebrows?”  He wiggled them and she laughed.

“Even now,” she answered, surprised it was true and that her affection flowed so easily.  “But you’re the one who regenerated,” she continued.  “You’re the one with the changing tastes and the cute young…” her voice trailed off.  She pulled her hand from between his and reached for the ring. 

Third finger, left hand. 

He flattened his hand and let her pull it close. 

The ring with the stone had caught her eye.  A signet.  The significance unknown to her.  But there was plain gold band underneath it; she ran her thumb over the cool metal. 

“We never got around to that again,” he said.  “Always talked about doing it again.  Actual ceremony with all the pomp and circumstance.”

She nodded.  They had always talked about it.

“I decided to skip a few of the steps, it seems,” he continued, shrugging when she met his eyes again.  “Came with the body,” he said simply, offering another weak smile. 

“Then how do you know…”

“Because whenever I look at it I think of you.  I never once wondered what it was, really.  I knew.” He sighed. “It was Eleven’s last great declaration to me to never forget.”  

“I was dead.”

“You’ve never been dead.  That was the point, after all.”

She nodded and whispered, “No good-byes.” She turned her attention back to his hand.  They were both quiet as she examined him, the mood heavy again.  Awkward.  She’d lost someone, her husband.  The one she’d loved with everything.  And regained him.  A new one who didn’t seem to miss the man he’d been. 

It was a hard balance.  She’d met all of him, ever reincarnation.  She’d liked some.  She’d disliked some.  And loved all of them.  But never once had she met a new one.  Never once had she not known how he’d end.  She’d never met a Doctor after her. 

“Tell me,” she said after a moment, bringing his hand up to kiss the knuckle closest to the ring.  He shook his head, looking away.  Tears stung her eyes but she pushed them away. She took a shaky breath and wove her fingers through his. 

“Tell me,” she repeated.  Pausing for just a moment before adding, “On the Fields of Trenzalore…”

He shook his head again and looked down.  Her Doctor would leave it at that, refuse to talk.  Start parading around the room, screaming about an adventure.  But at least that seemed to have changed a bit with regeneration.  What had Clara said, “More pain, fewer secrets.”  Maybe he’d finally stopped hiding everything away. 

She waited. 

She held his hand and she waited. 

“Six hundred years,” he said after moment.  Her fingers tightened and he looked up.  There was a hollow look in his eyes she’d never seen there before.  An emptiness.  The last time she’d seen him he hadn’t known her. She’d seen him at his youngest and know she was seeing him at his oldest.  The oldest he’d ever been.  His right now. 

“Gallifrey,” he continued, swallowing. 

“Gallifrey is gone,” she said and he started to shake his head. 

“It isn’t.”  The words shocked her into silence as she studied the mix of the emotions swimming across his face.  New pain.  Old pain.  He took a deep breath and started explaining. 

* * *

 

“Idiot,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head. He continued to stare out the window for a few minutes before turning and headed back towards the bed.  The room was dark, the starlight the only thing illuminated the furniture around him. 

He slapped his palm against his forehead.  “Stupid. Stupid. Idiot.”  He kept his voice low and glanced at his sleeping wife, seeing no signs of her stirring. 

She’d been in the hospital a day.  Recovering from, well ,from being dead really.  New body, not quite working 100% yet.  New husband with a new face.  She needed comfort.  Support. 

What does he do… lay out six hundred plus years of problems in less than an hour. 

To tell of Trenzalore he had to talk about Gallifrey.  That had led to it not being there.  To The Master.  To Danny. Bloody. Pink.  Clara.  Santa.  Not being a good man. 

She’d frowned at the last bit.  Shook her head. He was just an idiot in a box.  He knew that now.  Accepted it.  He had gotten too big.  River had told him as much.  So he’d stopped.  He’d become nothing.  He liked being nothing. 

But he’d always been more than that to River.

Because she was an idiot too.  One of the universe’s biggest idiot, and she was his.  He just hoped she’d stay that way. 

Not two psychopaths on a Tardis.  She’d been right about that.  One was enough.  But two idiots.  The Tardis would love two idiots. 

She wouldn’t do ‘forever’ though.  He knew that.  She liked having a home.  A planet.  A house.  Going round the shops.  A normality that had been robbed from her.  A normality he’d escaped on Gallifrey. 

Whenever and wherever she wanted.  He could live with that. There was no library looming in front of them.  The end was over.  The beginning was here again. 

And he still had Clara.  He didn’t have to travel alone.

He was alone too much this go round.  River had said as much before she’d fallen asleep.  After he’d burden her with all of his worries and heartache.  He’d given her the death of Eleven.  The death of the one she’d married. 

And now she was stuck with his replacement.  Who didn’t know how to shut up.

“Idiot,” he said, dropping down into his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ve always said as much,” River said quietly, and he looked up to see her eyes sparking up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing for waking her, but the words held much more than that. 

“Don’t be,” she replied, reaching for his hand.  Her thumb brushed over the ring again.  “I wanted to know.”  She sighed, unable to hide all of her sadness.  It ached through his already dodgy hearts.  She looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes in the darkness.  “You need some sleep.”

He smirked and nodded.  “Hardly a comfortable chair, dear,” he said. 

She smiled, pulling on his hand.  “Come to bed.”  She scooted back on the bed, making room for him. 

She released his hand and patted the mattress.   He stood and eased his jacket off.  His hearts were pounding – this more than anything else making it seem real.  His hands were shaking as he kicked off his shoes. 

River held her hand out again and he took it.  She pulled gently and he eased in next to her.  The mattress was too small and too hard, but River kissed him.  Brushing her lips quickly against his, and his whole body singed before she pulled away, tucking her head under his chin.  He wrapped his arm around her and closed his eyes. 


	8. Next Step

Home is the nicest word there is. – Laura Ingalls Wilder

“If you poke me with that, I’ll break your bloody arm,” she snapped at the nurse who’d just walked into the room. 

“River,” the Doctor said, holding up an apologetic hand to the poor nun who looked shocked at such language.  “Final test and we can g…”

“We can go anyway!” she declared, the scent of perfume carrying out from the bathroom as she finished her routine.  “I’m fine.  I’ve been fine for days.  Just because they can’t explain me doesn’t mean I have to keep letting them try.” 

She entered the room again, and his breath caught.  She still looked tired, her coloring not yet completely back to normal, but she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  However, her beauty had led to silence which had led to him losing the argument. 

“See,” River said speaking to the nurse and gesturing towards her husband.  “He’s given in. No more poking, dear, I’m going home.”

“Professor Song,” the woman started, but River raised her hand, dismissing it. 

“Home,” she said, walking back to the bed.  She picked up her bag and tossed it at the Doctor.  He grunted, alarmed she’d accumulated so much in so little time.  He knew exactly what he’d smuggled in for her and couldn’t imagine what she’d managed to steal.  It was a hospital, not a jewelry store.  And there wasn’t an archaeological site anywhere near them. 

“River,” he started, standing and trying to apologize to the nurse again.  Being the diplomatic one – he hadn’t done that since, well he couldn’t even remember.  Probably as bowtie.  Probably with River.

“Sweetie,” she said, turning on him.  Her green eyes were glowing and he knew he’d lost.  “You can’t tell me anything.  They can’t tell me anything,” she gestured towards the nun.  “I’ve lived everything in here.” She held up the blue journal.  “So let’s go.”

He nodded, she pushed her flowers into his free arm and tucked her journal against her chest before heading out.  She led him past the nurse and down the hall. 

“Where’s the Tardis?” she asked over her shoulder, smirking at him.    

“Garage,” he answered. “Nice spot right behind a support post.” 

“Good,” she replied, slowing down so he could fall into step next to her.  “We need to find a mall or a trading post or something.  I appreciate your sentiment in keeping some of my clothes, but your favorites were hardly the most comfortable.”  He glanced down at the blue dress and shrugged.  He didn’t have strong feelings about it really, but it had been one of fish custard’s favorites.  Not that he minded looking at the way his wife’s breasts looked protruding from the low cut neckline, but he didn’t enjoy the looks that the other people were giving her in quite the same way his predecessor had. 

This Doctor didn’t like to share.

Perhaps because he hadn’t actually seen them yet.  Not with these eyes anyway.  They were little more than a pleasant memory.

“Eyes up,” she said bumping him with her elbow.  He looked up and saw the easy smile on her lips.  She certainly didn’t mind that he’d been caught looking, despite the fact that their new relationship didn’t seem to have that flaring passion that they’d had previously. 

Not that he wasn’t interested.  He was oh so interested.  But it would wait.   It was a slow simmer constantly in the background but not taking control.  He was different, after all.  They were different.  There was a lot to figure out still. 

She chuckled as they waited for the lift, and stood on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. A tender gesture, with just a hint of a promise. 

“We can go wherever you like,” he said.

“So that pub on Barta where…”

“You almost got me and your parents killed?” he finished for her, feeling a swell of anxiety starting to bubble in his stomach.  The lift opened and she stepped inside before turning and winking at him.

She was kidding.  He smiled back, relaxing as he slipped in next to her.  “We can’t go back there, at least not until I find some weapons.  I do still need to defend my father’s honor.” 

“Hardly,” the doctor said.  “Rory’s the one who unwittingly called that female a male.”

“How was he to know that the males were considered the lowest form of life?  She could have been more understanding of the visiting culture.  It was unnecessary to hold him upside down for so long.”

The Doctor chuckled, remembering the look on Amy’s face before River stepped in with one of her guns pointed at the female.  They’d made it out, barely. 

“Our family outings were always a lot of fun,” she said as the lift started to move down. 

He huffed, looking over at her, shocked.  “Indeed,” he said, rolling his eyes at her as he started to list them.  “When we visited you at university and we got locked out of the campus.  That horrible whatever, university bouncer man, looking you and Amy up and down and making ridiculous comments.  And sleeping on the bench outside because the Tardis was in your room.  The beach on…”

“Your fault,” she interrupted, but he kept going,

“…immediately before a bloody tsunami.  Rory almost died.  Rory almost died a lot.  Raxis Prime, do not even get me started on that.  An archaeologist kicked out of an archaeology dig.  The bloody, fucking Pandorica!  I can’t even remember them all.”

“As I recall, you had a good time the night we slept on the bench…”

“Oh yes,” he said, nodding too emphatically.  “When your wife, who doesn’t know that she’s your wife, sticks her hand down your pants while her parents are sleeping. Wonderfully awkward times, dear.” 

She frowned, and he stopped. He had enjoyed it.  Really enjoyed it! 

“You didn’t mention Berlin,” she said quietly.  His mouth moved silently as the lift doors opened and she pulled him out into the garage.  

“I loved Berlin,” he finally managed, feeling the slight change in her mood at his words.  It had been a point of contention for them in the past, but not one he was willing to concede.

“I killed you,” she said as their footsteps echoed.  “And I was tortured in retaliation.” 

“That is my only regret from that day,” he answered truthfully.  She nodded, she understood that.  He’d certainly held her through some of the worst of her nightmares.  Even when she was young and didn’t really understand why he kept turning up.  “And you always forget that you saved me too.  You saved me without knowing me or who I would be to you.”

She shook her head.  “You knew things.  You knew me,” she replied.  “I didn’t even know me.  Neither did Amy or Rory, my closest friends.  My parents.”  She paused, taking a deep breath.  “You were dying and the only thing you cared about was getting your message to River Song.  Letting her know she was forgiven.”

“Always and completely,” he added. 

“She didn’t even exist.” 

“She did,” he answered.  Thinking of that moment.  His pain having faded, the fear for his Ponds, all three of them, gone.  His horror at watching River being tortured clear as day replaced by his horror of realizing what she’d done to save him, given away all of her lives. He swallowed hard.  He still hadn’t gotten over the guilt on that one.  “I’d met her.  I loved her.  Just because you didn’t know her yet.”  They turned another corner and he spotted the top of the Tardis, glowing bright, excited for River’s return.  He stopped walking, wanting to add something before that reunion.

She stopped and he met her eyes.  A sadness that had been there since she’d woken up not hidden with no banter to throw at him. 

“I,” he said, pausing.  He flattened his hand on his chest.  “I’ve changed a lot.  Righted a lot of my previous wrongs, but I’d never took a moment away from you.  Not even the bad ones for fear they might change the good ones. But I’m not him, and you won’t see him again. I’m sorry.”

He paused watching tears well in her eyes but was unable to tell if they were good or bad ones.  “For whatever that’s worth,” he added into the silence and turned to move to the Tardis.  River grabbed his elbow and stopped him.  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.  The gesture caught him by surprise and he was slow in responding, her hand having worked into his hair before he opened his mouth and greeted her invading tongue. 

The sensation surged through him as she deepened the kiss.  He loved it and started kissing back. He dropped her bag, glass rattling, and wrapped his suddenly free arm around her, feeling every inch of her pressed against him. 

He groaned as her sharp nails scraped down the back of his neck, trailing down the top of his spine.  He shifted his weight, feeling a noticeable change as his blood altered directions. 

“River,” he gasped as she pulled away.  They hadn’t done that yet, not really.  Not with that intensity. 

“Wow,” she said, leaning her head back to meet his eyes.  Her cheeks were flushed, the sight warmed his insides.  “That’s still…,” she leaned forward, kissing him again, pulling gently on his bottom lip with her teeth.  “Pretty amazing,” she finished. 

“Mmmm,” he hummed.  She stole another one, grinning as she pulled back. All hint of the tears gone.  All hint of her sadness vanished.  He was almost alarmed at how good at hiding she was.  Bowtie had always been an idiot when it came to River’s emotions.  He felt like he suddenly understood, or at least knew that she was hiding them.  He didn’t let his concern show though.  It wasn’t the time.  Get her home.  Get her safe.  He pulled her close instead, burying his nose in her hair and kissing just in front of her ear. 

“Very promising, Scotty,” she chuckled, patting his ass before reaching for her bag.  “More of that later I think.”  She pulled away and continued towards the Tardis.  He jogged to catch up and reached over her shoulder, dangling the key.

* * *

 

She swallowed hard as her heart sank in her chest.  It was different, she’d known it would be.  But it wasn’t what she’d expected. 

Cold.  Formal. 

It had none of the familiarity or friendliness of the place she’d loved, despite the whirling screen, the flashing lights, and every possible alarm ringing out in an excited welcome.  She smiled and tried to push everything else away. No matter what this was the Tardis.  His Tardis.  Her Tardis. 

Just like no matter what, he was the Doctor.

Even if he was different.  He was the same too.  She could see it.  Feel it.  But 600 years was a long time. She was his past.  And the Doctor liked to run from his past. 

Always.  And tastes changed. 

“Hello,” she said, trailing her fingers along the console. The metal was cool to the touch, the layout of the control panels concise and accurate.  She understood them though.  Knew what each button did easily.  It still made sense.  She still knew this, even though it had changed. 

It was the same. 

She sighed with the relief of it and sat her journal down, gently tracing her fingers over every surface. She let her eyes wander.   The grey walls.  Shining metal.  And books.  Lots and lots of books.  That made her smile, something so like and unlike the Doctor at the same time.

Her eyes landed on her husband.  He was looking at the wall opposite the door with a frown on his face, looking sort of lost. 

“What?” She asked, following his eyes and seeing nothing that looked odd or even out of place.  The Tardis was alarmingly neat, actually. 

“Nothing,” he said, shaking the look way and setting her bag on the stairs.  “You know the Tardis.  Always adding and taking away.  There was some art work there earlier that’s gone.” He shrugged.  “I guess she got tired of it.”  He smiled, but River didn’t quite believe him. 

It was hard to know.

He was her husband.  The Doctor.  She knew that. She felt it.  She loved him, easily and without doubt.  She trusted him.  But she felt unsure. About herself.  What he wanted.  The Doctor was the Doctor.  But would he smile at the same things?  Laugh at the same things?  Be angered by the same things? 

A heated kiss in a public parking garage would have set him flailing before.  Arms out of control.  Flustered and turned on and embarrassed. 

This one, he’d kissed back.  Taken as good as he got and then some.  She’d liked it.  It was new, exciting, and so very, very different.

It scared her more than excited her.  And that scared her.  And fear made her weak.  Something to be pitied and cared for.  A burden.  He was loyal to a fault, always.  She wondered if she’d be able to tell if that’s why she was here.  Would she be kept safe and sound and cared for simply because he’d loved her once?

She felt panic swelling in her throat, the urge to run and fight that had been ingrained in her since before she could remember surged through her muscles.  Muscles that ached with the very thought of running.  She wasn’t strong enough yet. 

She’d been dead a few days ago.  He’d done that, saved her, no one else would have a reason to.  But he hadn’t been there.  The details were fuzzy and fading.  A young girl.  A young boy.  And her husband, there the first moment she woke up and was aware.  Truly aware.  Her husband who hadn’t left her side. 

Her husband, a widower for 600 years.  A different man in so many, many ways.  And still the same in so many more. 

For the first time since she’d known him.  Since the Fuhrer’s office in Berlin, she didn’t know where she belonged. 

She hated that. 

She strode to the console and started typing frantically.

“River?” he questioned, but made no move to stop her.  He leaned over easily and sat her flowers down on the metal steps.  His body and tone showed no exasperation that she was using his machine.  No flustered annoyance that she was better at it than him.  Just a simple question.

“Time to get out of here,” she said.  “I hate hospitals.”  She threw the lever and the familiar sounds started.  That whomping of the breaks that was burned into her soul. 

“Where to?” he asked, curious.  Calm. Confident. No hesitation about where she’d lead them.  No worries of impending danger. His own doubts hidden away as deeply as she hoped she was hiding hers. 

They started to spin in the vortex and it was good enough for her. 

“Nowhere,” she answered, closing the distance between them and throwing everything into distracting him.

 

 


	9. Downward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This has mild nudity and references to sex in it. If this is offensive, I apologize.

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.  
Carl Jung

The room was cool against her sweat-dampened skin.  River grabbed at the blanket and pulled it up over her stomach, sighing.  She returned her fingers to the Doctor’s hair and smiled when another satisfied purr escaped him as he buried his face deeper into her side. 

Her body was tingling and a bit sore, and for the first time since she’d awoken in the hospital, everything felt completely right.  Completely easy.  Minus a few awkward encounters, very early on for him, this had always been good.  She smiled at the ceiling; this had certainly measured up.  Better even than she’d dared to remember while stuck in the computer. 

Perfect. 

This was what she expected.  This was the same. 

A possessive hand still covered her right breast lightly. She’d woken up like that more often than not.  A leg wound between hers.  A warm naked body pressed against her. 

He was different.  A bit pointier.  A few more wrinkles.  But in this it didn’t matter.   This was good.  Great. 

He’d remembered her and what she liked and had reacted as she’d expected to every touch and taste she’d offered.  In this, she knew him even better than he knew himself. 

In this they’d found their common ground.  In this she found her husband. 

That was part of her problem, she knew, staring down at him.  Grey hair. Lines.  Pointy elbows.  Shorter, but somehow more elegant fingers.  She had to make herself think it.  Make herself acknowledge that this was him.  This was her husband.  This was the same man who stood on that pyramid.  The same man who’d sat next to her on a tree and looked at the most stars ever visible.  The same one who’d cried almost uncontrollably when he’d realized he was saying good-bye, even though she had no idea. 

This was him.  This was her Doctor. She knew his name, the one no one else did.  His most valuable secret.  She’d whispered it in his ear not an hour ago and felt his body fall apart in response.

Still, her words from the library echoed around her head, “…the real you.”  There was no such thing.  She’d corrected herself immediately.  She knew better.  She understood that in ways most people didn’t.   She’d married him, all of him. 

“Mmmm,” he hummed shifting, his hand squeezing, thumb brushing quickly over her nipple before his hand dropped away and his head popped up.  “You’re cold,” he stated, Scottish accent heavier with sleep.  She pushed her thoughts away and smiled up at him, using her hand to flatten some of his errant hair. 

“A bit,” she answered truthfully, “but you were sleeping.”

He huffed at this and moved, pulling the blanket up and tucking it around her. 

“You’re recovering,” he said, voice more normal.  “Kick me out of the way and take what you need.” He pulled away from her and settled back on his pillows. 

“Maybe,” she said, rolling onto her side and dragging her nails through a mix of grey chest hairs.  “I needed my husband snuggled up next to me.” 

He huffed again, and grabbed her wrist, stilling her palm so she could feel the coordinated beats of his hearts. 

“That selfish bastard,” he grumbled.  “He has no consideration for his ailing wife.  Taking advantage of her on her sick bed.”  She laughed as he continued.  “Keeping the room frigid so she can catch cold.” 

“That’s not true,” she said, scooting a bit closer.  He stared at her, blue eyes shining.  “I happen to know for a fact that your parents were married.”  His laugh filled the room as he released her wrist and wrapped his arms around her. 

He pulled her close, their legs tangling together easily underneath the heavy blankets.  She snuggled against him, belonging again.  Feeling comfortable and safe. 

“I’ve missed you, wife,” he said, leaning down for a quick kiss, before tucking his face into her hair and kissing by her ear.  “So very, very much,” he whispered, and River heard the pain in his voice and it ached through her chest. 

* * *

 

River stood in the doorway, watching the moon slowly spin away from her.  Lights were starting to come on as the university came to life.  Her house was down there.  Her life.  The career she’d work for.  The name she’d made for herself. 

All of it around her husband.  All of it because of him. 

All of it gone.

She sighed, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.  She’d been forced into a pair of her husband’s boxers and one of his dress shirts.  She’d been alarmed to find that the only things he’d kept of hers were the blue dress she’d worn from the hospital, the hideous green one she’d grown to love, and the black one.  The Manhattan one that she couldn’t believe he’d kept.  She’d gasped when she’d pulled it out of the drawer, dropping it to the ground, certain she’d woke him. 

She hadn’t.  But the sight of it had made her panic.  The period where she’d been writing her book was the absolute worst of their marriage.  They’d hardly spoken, and when they had, they’d fought.  She’d lost her parents.  He’d lost his Amy.  And it wasn’t until she’d apologized for surviving that the seriousness of it had hit him.  They’d made up.  She went to the library. 

Her chest tightened as she fought back tears.   

She wasn’t much of a crier, and it suddenly felt like all she’d done. 

She wished she could see Amy.  Watch some football with Rory. 

“Get it together, Pond,” she whispered to herself. 

She felt him enter the console room.  Rooms always felt different when he was in them. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Ghosts,” she answered, nodding at the buildings of the university. 

“River?” he asked, concern in his voice.  She smiled and turned around.  She reached to shut the door, but stopped when she saw him holding the black dress.  She stood frozen, chest tightening again. 

He stood watching her.

“Why…?” she asked, seeing the material crinkle under his fingers. 

He was quiet, studying the dress for a moment before tossing it over the railing.  He’d been hidden behind it, and she smirked to see he hadn’t bothered to dress.  He clapped his hands and took a couple steps closer to her.

“Why did I keep it?” he asked. 

She eyed it a moment and nodded. 

He shrugged. “A reminder,” he said.  “A reminder of what I took from…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, the words from all those years ago echoing between them.  She hadn’t wanted his apologies then, she certainly didn’t want his guilt now.

“It always has,” he answered.  “Ageless god.”

“Everything is always your fault, isn’t it?” she said.  Harsh words from too many long ago arguments.  Murderers both and enough guilt to fill multiple lifetimes.  She was burdened by prison.  He by war.  Both broken and put back together so often they were barely recognizable.  She studied him for another moment, before she sighed and looked away. 

He’d saved her.  He’d been lonely and ripped her from her life just as quickly as he put her into it, denying her death.  One she’d walked into willingly, not unlike the one her mother had walked into.  Her life had revolved around him since her first breath.  It was something that made her eternally thankful and infuriatingly angry.  And she didn’t know why. 

“River,” he said.  She shook her head. 

“Talk to me,” he snapped.  It was enough.

“You get to make all the decisions and carry all of the burdens,” she said, running her palms into her eyes.  “I can’t… It’s all your fault.  Amy and Rory.  Donna.  Me!  I’m a sentient being, Doctor.  I know the decisions... and then you hang on to mementos to let the pain linger.  Savor it.  Punish yourself over and over.  Should have kept one of my whips, honey; self-flagellation would be more productive.” 

“I….uh…,” he stammered, and the fact that he still was undressed wasn’t lost on her.  The whole thing was ridiculous.  Really, truly ridiculous, but her eyes were stinging and there was no, absolutely no stopping it now.

“No words?  Well that has to be a first.”

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” he said, throwing his arms up in the air before realization dawned on his face.  “Oh wait, oh, oh… Shut up…” he pointed at her

“Excuse…”

“Shut up,” he repeated, starting to pace around the room.  “You’re angry about the library.  Angry about your timeline.  Angry that I let you…”

“Let me?  When have you ever let me do anything?  Was I supposed to let you die?” she asked.  That stopped him.  He turned and stared at her. 

“Yes” he answered simply.  She shook her head. 

“I couldn’t let you die.  I’d have never met you, I’d have never…”

“The existence of River Song has nothing to do with me.”

“River Song has everything to do with you!” she snapped back.  “I chose to do what I did.  I’d have died.  You picked the rest.  You picked my future.  You put me in that database.  You make all the decis–”

“I couldn’t let you die,” he spit her words back at her. 

“I don’t matt–”

“Shut up!” he said again, this time meaning exactly that.  He was glaring at her, blue eyes aflame with emotion she didn’t completely recognize.  Emotion she’d never seen before.  “Shut.  Up.  Has it never once occurred to you that you mean anything to me?  And that’s my fault, actually my fault, before you argue with me. I know that now.” He pointed at the black dress.  “I made you break your wrist.  I made you stay with that Angel.  I let you believe, BELIEVE, that Amy meant more to me than you.  And she meant the world to me, but she wasn’t you.  I let you believe that the grief for my friend was somehow more encompassing than the love I have for my wife.  That’s my fault.  And I’d apologize to you if we did things like that.  But we never have, so I needed to remember.  I needed to hold on because I knew what was coming.  I knew the library loomed and I was throwing my time away.  Can’t you understand that?  As for the library, I had no idea who you were and that terrified me.  The only thing I knew was that if you knew my name, if I told you MY NAME, then you were important to me.  Not only had I married you, but I trusted you.  I don’t do that.  I don’t share my secrets.  I had to save you.  I knew that future me wouldn’t let you die.  So I did what I needed to do.”

He threw his arms up in the air again, and shook his head. 

“And getting you out.  I have no idea, be angry about it all you want, because I don’t know anything.  I didn’t do it.  Not yet.  I was told you were saved and I showed up.  So my fault again. Your idiot husband too idiotic to even save his wife six hundred years on.  So be as cross with me as you want, River Song, but I’m not sorry you’re here.  I’m not sorry you’re alive.  I never will be.  Now open the damn door and throw the dress away if it means so bloody much to you.” 

He snatched it, tossed it at her and stormed away.  She didn’t follow. 

* * *

 

The only picture she found was of his previous version with Clara.  It was propped on a desk in what was obviously his companion’s room.  It was cluttered but not really messy.  Comfortable but not lived in fully.  She remembered him telling her about Clara leaving him for a while.  He lying about Gallifrey.  She lying about her boyfriend – Danny, River recalled.  That had been after regeneration though.  After his declaration of age.  No longer the twelve year old boy she’d accused him of being in that long ago Manhattan mansion. 

She ran her fingers over his boyish face.  They were an odd couple, her Doctor and Clara.  River was able to recognize some of the affection in his features.  It wasn’t as simple as her husband made it out.  There had been something more. 

Not that it was surprising.  Clara was young.  Clara was pretty. Clara was interesting. 

His wife had been dead. 

She hadn’t sensed it when meeting Clara though.  Affection, certainly, but more the awe the Doctor inspired in everyone and less of the intimacy that she recognized in herself.

Clara trusted the Doctor.  Liked him.  Even loved him, but had never quite made the leap into falling in love with him.  It was he who’d made it more.  And he who’d declared his reluctance to let go of his wife when he’d regenerated. 

River had jumped into loving him blind and feet first.  And she’d never regretted it, despite how miserable it sometimes made her.   Despite how insignificant he sometimes made her feel.

She knew better, even when she couldn’t feel it.  Even when she wondered why she was being so stupid in sacrificing for him.  He was always worth it. 

He hadn’t been in the library when she’d been freed.  She had a vague memory of a girl and a young man.  She wasn’t sure they were real and hadn’t broached the subject yet.  But he hadn’t been there.  And it wasn’t him, the one in the picture, it was the one who’d been there when she woke up. The one who hadn’t left her side. 

The one who was probably lying in bed wondering what the hell had happened to his evening.  

She smiled looking at his younger face in the picture.  Even in this he hadn’t changed.  Six hundred years and he’d still be wondering what the hell he’d done wrong.  She ran her thumb over his face one last time. 

“The King is dead,” she whispered, pressing the photo against her chest.  “Long live the King.”  He’d said something about dinner earlier, she’d made a joke about the Planet of the Rain Gods.  Not there obviously, but 1930 New Orleans had always been a favorite of hers.  She sighed, replacing the picture and headed back to the bedroom. Their bedroom.

* * *

 

The Magician traced her fingers along the railing as she walked around the console room.  She was so rarely alone here that she savored it for a moment before pulling the photograph out of her pocket and dropping it onto the floor. 

“Thought you’d like to have this back,” she whispered into the air before turning and heading back out into the night. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who's read and commented on this so far. It is much appreciated. And with two comparisons to JD Robb, all I can say is that my mother would be euphoric if she knew I had this hobby. I've only read a few, but Nora Roberts has filled her bookcase for almost all my life. And when she discovered audiobooks, JD Robb/Nora Roberts filled every single car ride. Thank you!


	10. Another Saturday Night...

After changes upon changes we are more or less the same. – Paul Simon _The Boxer_

 

Clara shuffled the shopping bags as she dug in her handbag for her keys. 

“Yes, Monica,” she said into the phone secured between her ear and her shoulder.  “I’ll be there at 7.”

It was her friend Sarah’s hen night, and she’d been put in charge of all the ridiculous bride-to-be paraphernalia.  She’d bought an unbelievable amount of penis shaped items, an inflatable man, and a new dress. 

“I know. I know.  I’ll be there.”  She found her keys, and struggled to get them in the door. “Yes, I got the straws.  You did make reservations right?  It’s going to be busy.”

She managed to push the door open and dropped the bags just inside.  She stretched her arms out before reaching for the bag with her dress. A quick shower and she’d be heading out. 

Monica carried on about the restaurant before taking a quick detour about her boyfriend giving her a hard time about going out. Clara was hardly listening but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. 

It felt good to be spending time with her friends again.  Not that her life with the Doctor wasn’t exciting, the exact opposite actually, but it was distracting.  All encompassing. She’d missed the normality, even if she hadn’t realized it at the time. 

She walked into her kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stopped dead.

“Monica,” she interrupted.  “I’m going to have to call you back.” 

She hung up without waiting for an answer and dropped the phone onto the counter. 

The Doctor was sitting at her small dining table, forehead resting on his arms, snoring softly.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.  She took a step to the side and was relieved to see some item of white clothing covering his lap, and then frowned at the giant purple bruise on his neck, almost gagging when she realized she could see the teeth marks surrounding it. 

It wasn’t a bruise. 

“Doctor,” she said in her regular voice, shocked when he didn’t move.  She’d never seen him sleep for more than a few minutes. 

“DOCTOR!”

His head shot up, the chair jolting back as he was suddenly standing, looking around frantically.

“What?!” he demanded before locking eyes with her. 

She glanced down, saw he was wearing boxers, and was relieved again that they wouldn’t be falling off. 

“You’re late!” he snapped, looking at his bare wrist before searching the room frantically for the time.

“You’re naked,” she replied, dropping the bag with the dress onto the table.  “And covered in,” she paused, “marks.”  She eyed the bites across his chest and even one dipping below the waistband of his boxers.  She shuddered at the thought.

He glanced down his body and frowned.  “River was…”

“I do not want to know,” Clara interrupted, holding up her hand.  “Under no circumstances do I want to know.”

They were quiet for a moment and she looked around the room. 

“Where is River?” she finally asked, half expecting the Doctor’s naked wife to appear in front of her. 

He frowned and crossed his arms. 

“The thief took my Tardis,” he said.

They stared at each other, and Clara crossed her own arms. 

“What did you do to her?” Clara asked.

“I didn’t do anything!” he snarled.  Clara stood her ground.  She knew him too well to believe he was completely innocent in any conflict.  River might not be blameless, but the Doctor was at least partially at fault. 

“It’s different,” he said simply, sitting back down in the chair and reaching for her bag.  She didn’t stop him as he pulled the dress out and started looking it over before tossing it back on the table.  “That’s too short,” he said.  “You’re an adult.” 

“It’s a hen night,” she said, letting herself be momentarily sidelined. 

“So you’re going for easy-to-have-sex-with look?  Understandable, I guess.” 

She didn’t take the bait and the moment he realized she wasn’t going to, he frowned again and leaned back in the chair. 

“She’s different,” he said finally continued.  “Timid and doubting one moment and then,” he gestured up and down his body, “so enthusiastic the next.  She hardly reacted when I told I’d had to put her back into the database.  I tried to explain about Trenzalore, but she said it didn’t matter.”  He frowned.  “She always says that, even when it clearly matters.” 

Clara pulled the chair out opposite him and sat down.  She leaned forward and waited.  She knew he wasn’t done. 

“She wanted to go to Luna, see her house.  Get her things,” he sighed.  “They aren’t there though.  I don’t know what happened to them. I never went back.”

“What?” Clara asked, and he looked momentarily distraught.  “You never went back to her home afterwards?  You never sorted her things or kept what was important?”

“I kept what she’d left on the Tardis.  And I just never got around to it.  She’d left me.” 

“She died for you,” Clara said.  “She deserved bett–”

“I know that,” he snapped again, glaring at her.  “She’s always deserved better.” 

Clara’s heart ached for a minute.  The Doctor’s doubts weren’t new to her.  She’d seen the insecurities through the cracks in his ego many, many times.  But never in anything like this.  Never in something so personal.  Never with someone who so clearly adored him. 

“You’re different too,” she said because it was the only thing she could think of.  “I know you’re the same, but you aren’t.”

“I can’t regress.”

“I don’t think anyone wants you to,” Clara said.  “But it is an adjustment.  And she was isolated, secure.  You’ve lived your life.  You not only have your regeneration but also the time.”

“Six hundred years,” he inserted, shaking his head. 

“That’s a long time even for you.”

“She won’t talk to me,” he said.

“You didn’t really do feelings before,” she said.  “Not grown up ones.”  She thought of her description of his changes that she’d given to River and realized that was a pretty big one she’d unintentionally left out.  “You need to hash everything out.  Maybe have a big row and…”

“Oh,” he said, standing up again, “we had that. Hence my standing in your dining room only partially clothed.  This is only slightly worse than with the otters”

“Wait?  Worse?” Clara said, shaking the thought away. “What was the fight about?”

“She doesn’t want to stay on the Tardis,” he said quietly.  “I knew she wouldn’t.  She liked having a planet-based life.  A home.  She loved the adventures too, but never wanted to live on the Tardis full time.” 

“I can understand that,” Clara said, thinking of her excitement over the hen night and being with her friends.  The fun she used to have with Danny.  All very different and not found on the Tardis. 

He nodded as he walked over to her window.  She suspected he understood it now too.  The boring life on Gallifrey, going round to Gallifreyan shops and doing Gallifreayan chores, didn’t seem quite so tedious now. 

“She doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” he added.  “Her home was on Luna.  She can’t go back because they knew she died.  That history is written and can’t be undone.  She could go back and start over, but it’s been so long.  She doesn’t have anything, less even than when she got out of prison.  She isn’t who she once was.  I changed too much and she was affected along the way.”  He paused and finally turned back and looked at Clara. “She wanted to see her parents.”

Clara knew about Amy and Rory.  She knew the story and what had happened.  And she certainly understood River’s desire to see them. 

“We’ve visited locked time before,” she said.  He started shaking his head. 

“It’s different.”  He didn’t expand on that.  Didn’t explain.  “She’s going to try anyway, I’m sure.  The Tardis won’t take her.  It’s too dangerous and the Tardis protects River.  But the vortex manipulator is in the drawer.  She saw it.  She might be able to get through with that, but she won’t be happy there.  As much as they loved her, she was never really their daughter.  Their friend sometimes, my wife others.  She’ll still be older than them.  Still an equal and not a child. That’s my fault, she was taken because of me.  Trained…”

“Not everything that happens is your fault, Doctor.”  He turned to look at her.  “What happened to River, the little bit I know, sounds horrible.  But it she seems to have become the type of woman who makes her own decisions. Instead of killing you, she married you.  She didn’t let anyone dictate what she did or wanted, even you.  She gave her life for you in the library, for you and the life that you shared with her.  She did that for her, not just you.”

He shook his head and turned away.  “That’s what River said, but if I hadn’t...” he trailed off and the dismissive gesture annoyed Clara and she grabbed for her dress. 

“Maybe you should have listened to her.  Instead you’re stuck here without your flying box and with no clothes.”  She stood up.  “I have to go out,” she said.  “I’ll be back late.  There are sheets in the closet for the spare bed, help yourself.” 

“You’re leaving me, now?” he asked.  “You have to help me…”

“Everything isn’t about you.  I don’t know River, but I think the answer to your problem is pretty simple.  Love her, but make sure she knows it.  She showed you with her actions how she feels about you, and her reward for that is your complete disregard for what she did, what she gave up.  It hurt you so much that you didn’t even respect her enough to pack up her belongings.  And talk, for god’s sake.  You talk about how she deserves better but put no effort into finding out what exactly she wants.” 

* * *

 

He read the name on the package and made a mental note to acquire more ‘Hob Nobs’ at his earliest convenience.  They were a mighty fine biscuit, much better than those jam things he’d liked before. He was glad Clara had stocked them, even if she’d left him to figure out the coffee contraption on his own.  He’d mastered it, finally and even managed to clean up the mess he’d made in the process.  It would do him no good to get kicked out of the only place he had to live right now.  He sincerely doubted his ex-grandfather-in-law would take him in. 

And Martha, well she’d hardly recognize him, assuming he could find her.  He shook his head, and dismissed the thoughts.  His guilt over his wife was enough, he didn’t need to drag all of his horrible history up. 

He hit the button on the channel changing device and switched programs on the television.  He’d never been a particular fan of the medium, but the continual array of programs discussing paternal relations and which of the selection of men had provided the DNA necessary to form the new human was tedious.  No wonder humans were still stuck on this planet.  It really was a wonder that they’d eventually be so influential. 

_The woman who killed the Doctor._

“I used to be somebody,” he said, recalling her words to him just before they’d lost Amy and Rory.  He should have been more considerate of her then.  He always should have been more considerate really. 

She had always deserved better. 

But oh did he love her. 

Maybe Clara was right in that regard. Maybe he should have spent more time telling her.  She was the smartest person he’d ever met.  She certainly knew what she was getting into.  He’d undone her actions without her consent.  Once before he knew who she was and once in a way he didn’t even understand yet.  He’d use his children to carry out his ideas.  Rip her from her life once again, without her consent.  And he’d still do it, even if she never talked to him again.  Her life was all that mattered.  It was the choice he’d make every time.  He’d do it all again and simply hope like hell she’d still choose him, just as she always had.    

He did understand her hesitation.  Eleven hadn’t done this.  He didn’t do grown up feelings.  He’d hid from them like he hid from everything.  The idiot had chosen to forget the worst moments of his life.  Ignore the burdens instead of carry them. But he understood that weakness now and had corrected it.  He could take on aspects of their relationship that he hadn’t before. 

But she didn’t know that, because he hadn’t explained it to her.  He’d been too afraid that she’d hate the changes.  Hate the things he hated about himself. 

He had to make her understand. 

Six hundred years was a long time.  And still so much hadn’t changed.

He was still an idiot.  And they were both still psychopaths.  He sighed and hit the channel button again. 

He thought about his children.  He could have them come here.  To Clara’s house on this day and bring him the Tardis.  They obviously had the Tardis themselves or at least access to it.  Come here.  Find Dad. Find the Tardis.  But their lack of sudden arrival assured him he did no such thing.  He’d even considered searching through Clara’s books or digging up her half dead bush-like being in the corner to see if they’d hidden something for him.  But he knew better than that too, or rather he knew they knew better.  They’d been manipulating time since this whole thing started, but he suspected they’d know when they’d gone too far.

He couldn’t do anything until she came back.  And River always came back.  It might take her a month, but he had food here and shelter, and, he glanced downwards, his boxers.  That was more than she’d left him with when she’d dumped him with the otters.  He’d had a bit better company then, but the fight hadn’t been as severe.  He’d been too friendly to a prostitute on one of the sin planets.  He hadn’t realized what happened until his wife had joined them.   After putting the woman in her place and shooing her away from The Doctor, River had stormed away and eventually kicked him out of the Tardis. 

This seemed a little more complicated.  This wasn’t him being stupid, this was him being a bad husband.

This was two strangers who happened to love each other figuring out how to get to know one another. 

Again and like never before.

It was simple and so complicated.

And he was stuck without his damn Tardis.  He aimlessly tossed a bit of biscuit wrapper and settled back into the TV show. Food preparation.  He groaned.  Humans really sat on their couches and watched other humans prepare food. 

* * *

 

The sun was up when Clara finally made her way home.  The Doctor was ashamed for her and the embarrassment she must have felt walking through the streets in that dress.  But she had an easy smile on her face, and while tired, she seemed very far from inebriated. 

That, at least, was a relief. 

“Have fun?” he asked, because something was required. 

“I did,” she answered easily.  “And now I’m going to bed.” 

He watched as she turned toward her room.  She’d only taken a few steps when whomping noise filled the flat.    

“River,” he said, jumping up from the couch, the Tardis starting to fade in and out in Clara’s hall. He started towards it before stopping suddenly.  It sounded wrong, too fast, too quiet.  The pattern was off, something was… 

He spotted the flames in the window and took off.  He managed to get his arm around Clara’s waist just as she reached for the handle.  The door opened just as he pulled her down.  Flames shot about their heads, the roar deafening, the heat searing his back as he covered Clara.  It was only a moment before the burst of energy was gone, dissipated in the equilibrium.

“Doctor?” she asked, alarmed beneath him.  He didn’t reply, pushing himself off the ground.  He made a quick glance around to see that nothing inside the flat had been engulfed, just a wave of smoke filling the air.  Then turned his attention back to the Tardis.

“River,” he called, darting around a small fireburning in the entrance, his lungs adjusting to the smoke as he made his way into the control room. The far wall was scorched, burn marks seared up to the ceiling. 

“River!” he shouted again, spotting her bag on the floor by the console. He stopped by it, picking up a piece of leather that he recognized from her vortex manipulator. 

Alarms started going off all around him, and he knew with a swell of panic that River wasn’t here.  It wasn’t just that she wasn’t in this room, she wasn’t on the Tardis anymore.  And his beautiful machine had sought him out the second it had all gone wrong. 

“What happened?” Clara asked, appearing in the doorway with a fire extinguisher.  He should have thought of that.  Should have thought containment.  He couldn’t though, even now. 

If the vortex manipulator malfunctioned she could be anywhere.  Anytime.  She could have been lost in the vortex.  Lost in space.  The panic was welling in his throat again, his arms and fingers itching with anxiety and anticipation. 

He had to find River. 

And to find River he had to stop the fires. 

“Fire repression system,” he shouted at the ceiling and a second later white foam started to fall about them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a Sherlock story several years ago, not posted on this site (yet), that had the title taken from The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel. I had several people tell me that they’d never heard of the song or of the duo. So here I am, on my soap box, spreading them to the world. I can't imagine with the Mrs. Robinson reference that they are completely unknown, but just in case. Give them a listen! :)


	11. After the fire, after all the rain...

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.

 Maya Angelou

 

There was a crashing sound and River hit the railing hard, her hip banging against the metal. 

“Ouch!” she screamed, not in reaction to the pain but to let anyone listening, the Tardis, know that it had hurt like hell.  “You could just say it wasn’t possible,” she snapped, moving back towards the keyboard. 

She wasn’t surprised.  Not really. New York was always complicated, especially New York when it was still at the whim of the Angels. It was hardly a shocker she couldn’t get through.  She was disturbed that the Tardis seemed to be unwilling to let her go anywhere on Earth at any point in time where Amy and Rory were alive.  It was frustrating and making her angry. 

“Why do you always side with him?” But she knew the answer to that too.  They belonged to each other, had for millennia and would continue to do so long after everyone else was gone.  He’d loved her despite the fact that she was broken and stuck in one form and it had died with him on Trenzalore.  River’d seen it, although she’d never told him that before.  She’d found it doing research, studying her husband.  She always knew. 

Earlier, the Doctor had explained to her about Trenzalore, about how she’d come out of the database to help him; it brought River comfort to find out that she’d been with him in some capacity, despite the fact that it meant he’d had to split her.   Part of her put back into the computer, living out the rest of her life in code. 

At least the database children would still have someone to look after them.  Although she knew it made no difference if she was there or not.  Her absence, although it might be disastrous to the system upgrade or whatever mess of a reason he’d given her, would make no difference to the functionality of that little world.  Would she be missed?  Maybe, but she’d be written over eventually.  Well she would have if a part of her weren’t still there. 

She sighed, stopping her typing when she noticed her hand shaking.  She was a mess and out of control.  She knew that.  She felt like she had as a teenager, watching her parents grow continually closer to each other and having absolutely nowhere to go.  No one to love.  A mission that loomed in front of her with only a vague idea of anything else.  That girl was gone, replaced by her.  By River.  River fucking Song. 

But the teenager hadn’t gone far.

And him.  The Doctor.  Her husband.  He was so different.  She challenged him and he challenged her back.  He didn’t back down.  Didn’t give in.  He didn’t let her win.  She had no power over him.  No control.  And he made her so angry. 

But it wasn’t just him.  It was them.  All of them.  Ten, Eleven, and stupid Twelve. 

And the fact that he hadn’t gone back to her house.  She appeared to be no more than a blip on his lifelong radar.  There was nothing of her here.  Nothing saved.  Nothing treasured.  She’d kept photos of them, a small album tucked into her beside drawer.  She’d put it together with a random idea of giving it to him as a gift.  And it was gone now, with everything else.  Her work.  Her books.  Her memories of her parents. 

All of it meant nothing.  And it was all that she’d had.  A place she couldn’t go back to because time had dictated that she’d died.  Died for nothing, apparently. She felt like she’d meant nothing to him.  Him.  Her him.  Not this one who she couldn’t figure out.  Or not the one before who didn’t know her yet.  She’d forgive them; they were old and confused respectively.  But hers.  Her husband had ignored her. He’d moved on, leaving her in the dust, to have feelings for another. 

Clara. 

Clara and time.

Stupid time. 

So what if he’d done a forcible U-turn.

All she wanted to do was see her parents. 

She wiped the back of her hand over her cheek, furious that more tears had appeared.  She didn’t cry like this.  She didn’t.  She was River Song.  She killed the Doctor.  Twice technically – well once and saved him, and a robot once – but it was still twice. 

“Fine,” she snapped when the Tardis rejected her coordinates for Luna.  She couldn’t go home either, it seemed.  “I just wanted to get some damn clothes.” 

She looked down at the leggings she’d managed to find and tried to ignore the fact that she was still in one of his shirts.  She tried to shake of the feeling of his hands on her body as the scent of him wafted up to her nose.  His new scent. The cleaner and somehow less musky aroma. 

She grabbed the vortex manipulator and held it up almost defiantly.  “I’ll just do it my way.  You can find your own way back to him.”

And the machine would, she knew.  Probably to less than thirty seconds after she’d dumped him.  He’d be conveniently located to grab Clara and go on whatever adventure he had planned for them next. 

She wrapped the leather around her wrist and typed in the coordinates.  She reached for her bag as some alarm on the console started to shout at her.  She ignored it.  “Don’t try to apologize now,” she said as she reached up to hit the activation sequence. 

She hit the last button as the Tardis started to scream at her.  Every alarm, every light.  She just had time to realize something was wrong before everything exploded around her.

There was a wave of heat, fire searing all around her.  The vortex manipulator started to smoke before it popped off her arm.  She saw it arc towards the console before the room was gone all together.  She was lost, in the vortex she thought, before seeing a series of stars start to swoon around her. 

Her lungs hurt and her head ached, accosted by the lack of pressure.  She had just a moment to panic before there was another bang, the manipulator sizzling beside her as she landed on a stone floor.  She hit her head, the sensation making her nauseous as she responded to sudden pressurization. 

She reached up, trying to feel the wound, but her arm was numb.  Nothing seemed to be working as she coughed and her lungs started to burn. 

She smelled sulfur and was able to see clouds of vapor rising all around her.  She had to close her eyes, they burned, too. 

“Oh,” she managed, turning her head to the side because she thought she was going to be sick.  Not that it mattered, she realized, seeing the world fade to black around the corners of her eyes.  Death was different this time. 

Easier and meaningless. 

Pain scorched across her body and she stopped forcing air into her lungs as the burning sensation spread.  She felt herself relax.  It would be over quickly.  She thought of him, but not her him. The new one.  She felt sorry for him.  He was going to be angry and hurt. 

It was a mess, but he’d loved her. 

She felt herself letting go, the image of her husband grey-haired and blue-eyed staring back at her across the oblivion. She smiled, only vaguely aware of the cooling, tingling sensation in her stomach. 

The sound of something new. 

Something scared, something in pain. 

It wasn’t her though.  She didn’t understand.  She managed to force her arm up, hand up covering the sensation low in her belly and her mind was flooded with images.  Images she didn’t understand. 

Her smile relaxed into a frown as her husband faded away, the sound of crying replacing him. 

And her world went dark. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from The Flame by Cheap Trick.


	12. Broken Rules

Bigness and tininess together at last...In a world in which big always crushes tiny, you wanted to cry at the beauty of big being kind of and worshipful of and being humbled by tiny.  -- Meg Wolitzer [  
](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/113936.Meg_Wolitzer)

 

The Doctor took a rag and started wiping down the controls. 

Clara was still in the corner, mumbling about her new dress being ruined.  He didn’t care.  He couldn’t.  He had to get the Tardis moving.  He had to get to River, find her. 

“Come on, you stupid machine,” he said dropping the rag and using his hands to sweep the foam onto the floor.  Once the keyboard was free, he started typing frantically. 

“What happened?” Clara asked again.  It didn’t matter. 

“She bounced back,” he said, keeping it simple for the simple one.  The vortex manipulator had failed, she’d bounced back, caught in time.  It had blown up, maybe killed her instantly.  He swallowed past the panic in his throat at the mere thought of it.  It couldn’t be that.  She was somewhere, anywhere.  She had to be.

“Bounced back?”

“Not now,” he snapped, looking up to see Clara wiping more foam out of her hair.  With a flash and a roar the Tardis came to life again.  “Finally,” he said, glaring up at the screen, searching for anything.  

“Come on, honey,” he said. If River was out there, she’d send him a signal.  She always did.  “Yowzah,” he whispered, channeling the thought to her, hoping she’d remember.  If she was out there to remember. 

“Come on,” he said again as Clara moved to stand next to him.  She smelled like cheap perfume and fire retardant.  It churned his stomach and he scanned through every channel he could think of, looking for his wife.  

“Where is she?” he shouted, slamming his palm onto the panel.  “You know!”

“Doctor,” Clara said, reaching for his wrist.  He yanked it out of her reach and slammed his palm down again.  “TAKE ME TO RIVER!” he shouted, throwing the lever up, not completely surprised with the ceiling started to spin and the Tardis started to whirl around him. 

The swell of relief that she was working, that they were going somewhere, was enough to make his knees weak.  He grabbed onto the console and held on, working to control his breathing.  Less than a minute later the machine was coming to a stop, the acrid smell of smoke filling the air around him.  He’d worry about it later.  He’d worry about it when he found River.  When she was safe.  He’d have all the time in the world to fix the Tardis and he’d have the person who knew this stupid blue box even better than he did to help him. 

He darted past Clara and towards the door.  She was staring at the screen, frowning.  He didn’t care.  He couldn’t worry about it.

“Doctor,” she called after him, her voice hesitant, confused.  “I don’t think…”

He threw the door open, and stopped. 

Nothing.  He was staring at nothing.  No room.  No planet.  No stars.

“The screen’s blank,” Clara said.  He frowned, slamming the door closed and turning around.  His heart stopped.  Behind his companion and on top of the stairs stood a little girl.

“Melody?” he whispered, thinking of that little girl so long ago.  She looked just like that girl.  The one who’d been so scared and so ready to kill him.

Clara snapped her head around and he heard his teacher gasp.  “Where did…” But her voice trailed off or he stopped hearing it.  He wasn’t sure. 

The little girl frowned, and for a moment, just a moment he could see her.  All of her.  The colors.  The wave of thoughts. The moment of fear.  The swell of love and trust.  She didn’t doubt him.  Not even a little.  But she was confused. 

He took a step towards her and she went dark.  She’d closed herself off, and his breath caught at how empty he suddenly felt.  Like she’d always been there.  But she knew.  She figured it out all on her own. 

He wasn’t her father.  Yet.

She had a doll in her hand.  A Roman centurion.  He took a few more steps and she held it close to her side.  She was young, very young.  Hardly more than a human toddler, an infant still by Gallifreyan standards.  But she was smart.  He could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to put the pieces together.  Tried to figure it all out. 

He started walking again, closing the distance before easing up the stairs.  Her frown grew, her little girl forehead furrowing with concern. It was adorable and hurt him just a bit at the same time.  He wanted so badly for her to know nothing but happiness. 

“Is that Rory?” he asked, kneeling on a step so he was level with her.  He gestured towards the doll and she glanced down at it.  When her bright blue eyes locked with his again, he brought his hand up and pointed at his nose. 

“I can always tell by this,” he said and the corner of her lip curled up.  She looked so much like River in that moment that it was shocking.  But he kept going.  He had to. 

“Where’s your Mummy?” he asked and she shook her head, bring the doll close again.  “It’s okay,” he prodded.  “I know I’ve probably told you not to talk to me.  Not to talk to anyone before you.  Right?” 

She nodded.  He was an idiot, because obviously he should have known he was going to need her now.

Unless of course time was really changing. 

“I’m just looking for her.  I’m not mad.”  Confusion crossed the little face.  And he didn’t know how to proceed.  One wrong move and she was gone.  She could dart into the halls of the Tardis and disappear back into time.  He had no doubt that his machine would protect this little girl, even from him, if needed. 

“She’s sleeping,” the squeaky little voice finally said and the sheer sound of it melted his soul.  He felt his eyes start to sting, but swallowed past the lump in his throat and pushed them away. 

“Where?” he asked again. More confusion. 

“In bed,” she answered finally, gesturing with her head towards the doorway, the hall. 

He resisted the urge to run there because he knew it was wrong.  A problem with the Tardis.  A little girl moving from one point to the other.  The fire maybe.  The vortex malfunction.  He didn’t know.  But River wasn’t in that room.  Not in the one he could get to anyway. 

“And where am I?” he asked, expecting more confusion, but he didn’t get it. 

“With the baby,” she answered easily.  “So Mummy could sleep.”  As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

He nodded, resisting the emotions in his chest at the thought of a baby, his son maybe.  Probably. Or another perhaps. 

Suddenly her faced scrunched up and then her eyes went wide.  She’d figured something out.  Made a connection on her own somehow.

“Is this when you lose Mummy?” 

He was quiet for a long moment before whispering his affirmation.  She nodded at him as if everything finally made sense.  She studied him a moment more before reaching for the railing.  She handled the first step, and then the second with practice child ease that made the father in him shake with worry.  She was too small to do that on her own.  He resisted reaching out though.  Resisted taking more than she was comfortable with. 

She stood on the step in front of him, face just below his, and she smiled.  A wicked little smirk that matched the one that River wore just before she broke all of the rules.  She gestured for him to lean forward and he did.  The smell of strawberries and lotion filling his nostrils.  The smells of his daughter. 

He felt the breath on his ear just before she started to whisper. 

“The smelly place,” she said, moving back, but placing a kiss on his cheek before standing up straight.  The smirk was still firmly in place, and he could tell she’d broken the rules, and done it with complete abandon. 

And he had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Were you there?” he asked.  Her smirk turned into a smile.  She was laughing at him.  Humor at the old man who didn’t know what he was doing. 

And he felt the urge to run.  To start at one corner of the universe and work his way across until he found his wife.  Until he found River. He had to apologize.  He had to make her understand.  He had to make this, this little girl happen.  Because if she didn’t.  If he never met her he would never survive. 

He started to shake his head, moving the pieces around, the one clue he had.  The smelly place.  He didn’t know.  He–

His son’s words came back to him. 

“I lost something,” he said, raising his hands and looking at the ceiling.  He started to laugh, and heard Clara call his name. 

“Doctor?” she repeated and he looked over his shoulder at her. 

“I lost it, Impossible Girl, and I know where it is!” 

He turned around, intent on grabbing his daughter but she was out of reach.  At the top of the stairs again, staring down at him. 

She smiled, her little hand coming up to wiggle her fingers before she turned and darted away.  She was across the catwalk, through the doorway and gone.

“Oh my god,” Clara said, her eyes focused on the door. 

He was quiet for a moment, before standing up. 

“Don’t go up there,” he said, gesturing towards the spot.  “Time’s broken right there. I think.” 

He moved past her and back to the control panel. 

“Where are we going?” Clara asked, sounding confused again.

* * *

The Magician stood at the foot of the bed and stared at her mother.  The quite breathing sounds of sleep made her hesitate.  But she didn’t have to wake her Mummy to get in bed with her.  She could be really quiet.

She grabbed the blue plastic stairs her father had bought for just this purpose.  She set them up and climbed up, crawling slowly and quietly across the blankets.  She tucked Rory under her Daddy’s pillow and scooted close to her mother.  She closed her eyes and a moment later an arm reached around her and pulled her closer. 

There was a kiss on her forehead and a quiet hum as her mother hugged her. 

“What are you up to, Houdini?” her Mummy asked and the Magician started to giggle. 

“What?” her mother asked, leaning back, sounding more concerned.

“Daddy was here,” she said grinning up at her mother.  “Before he was Daddy.” 

Her mother was confused a moment, frowning, ready to be angry that The Magician had broken the rules.  And then she remembered and smiled back at her daughter. 

“Did you tell him were to find us?” 

The little girl nodded.                

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two were shorter chapters that I didn't want to combine, so I posted them right after each other. And with the beach calling my name it will be a few days before there is another. Very soon though. :)


	13. Two little pink lines...

But all the magic I have known I’ve had to make myself. ~Shel Silverstein

 

The Doctor threw the door open and stepped out of the way, just in case River was going to fall through.  It would hardly be the first time.  After a second he glanced outside and saw nothing but solid rock and rising sulfur clouds.  No sign of his wife.  No sign of his son.  No sign of anyone.

“Stay here,” he said to Clara even though he knew she wouldn’t get far if she did venture out. 

“Doctor, wait!” she called after him, but he ignored her.  He had to find River.  Had to. 

He waved his arms in front of him, trying to disperse what smoke he could as he moved forward, his eyes darting around frantically. 

“River!” he shouted “River!”

No response. 

“Dammit,” he swore and spun around frantically.  “RIVER!” he shouted again.

He was just about to pick a direction and run when he spotted a pale white hand on the ground. 

“River!” he cried, running towards her, tripping, knees hitting the ground next to her. Hard.  He ignored it. 

“Honey, oh god, honey.”  His hands were shaking as he reached out for her.  His fingers brushed her cheek before settling on her neck.  There was a pulse, steady, but weak.  But she wasn’t breathing.  He forced himself to stare for a moment, the panic welling in his chest.  Nothing, no breath.  He cupped her chin, preparing to give her his own oxygen, but stopped, seeing the cut on her head. 

There was a small pool of blood next to he ear, a scrape on her temple.  He brought his hand up, prepared to heal it.  Prepared to give her every ounce of regeneration he’d been given if needed.  But as he reached for it, reached to fix her, it fixed itself.  He gasped, the orange glow appearing and disappearing almost before he noticed it. 

River didn’t have any regeneration energy left. 

The sheer confusion prevented him from doing anything else, the puzzle catching his attention enough to slow him down.  Forcing him to really look at her.  Her coloring was off, an orange, glowing tint.  A hand rested low on her stomach. 

He frowned.  She still wasn’t breathing.   Still not getting oxygen.  He had to get her out of here. Had to help her.  He cupped her neck, hand brushing over her stomach intent on grabbing her legs, lifting her up, getting her to the Tardis, where he could help her. 

He cried out, snatching his hand back.  The sensations that flooded him over powering his brain, his emotions.  Panic. Fear.  Desperation.

He stared down at his wife for a moment and knew without a doubt it wasn’t her. 

“Oh my god,” he managed, leaning forward again and placing his hand on River’s stomach.  “Oh god,” he said again, the sensations flooding his mind.  His eyes burned and he felt a tear fall, yanking his hand away only when River gasped in a breath beneath him. 

She couldn’t breathe here, not this air.  He scooped her up, her body heavy and limp in his arms as he darted back towards the Tardis, holding her desperately against his chest.

“Hang on, honey,” he said, reaching the Tardis and kicking at the door.  He moved inside, maneuvering down the stairs and setting River gently on the floor. 

“Schism!” he shouted at Clara gesturing towards the console, they had to get going.  Had to get River to the A&E. 

“What happ–”

“GO!” he snapped, sinking to his knees and watching in awe as River’s breathing evened out.  He leaned forward pressing his forehead against hers.  “We’ll be there soon, River Song.”  He moved his hand to her stomach and pass the reassurance on. 

* * *

 

River’s head ached.  A continuous pulsing accompanied by a quiet beep, echoing through her skull making her nauseous. 

She was tired and hoped to ignore them.  Hoped they’d fade away into her dreams.  But awareness increased the sensations and she finally opened her eyes. 

She closed them quickly, the brightness of the room hurting.  She groaned as the memories started to come back to her.  The Doctor, the fighting, Amy and Rory.  The manipulator.  The stone.  She wondered a moment if she was still there.  Still on the stone floor in the middle of some unknown place. 

But she wasn’t.  She was comfortable on a bed. The room was cool and bright.  She forced her eyes open again and blinked against the light.  She was staring at a familiar ceiling.  A hospital room.  The Sisters of the Infinite Schism. 

Somebody had found her.  He’d found her.

She glanced down her body to see the mop grey hair next to her hip.  Her husband, head on crossed arms, asleep.  His face was hidden from her.  What had he been feeling? What had he been thinking?  Her petulance getting her into trouble once again, and he’d saved her.

She looked away from him, turning her attention back to the ceiling. 

How had he found her? She didn’t know where she’d been, she certainly couldn’t go back and tell him.

Maybe it had been the screaming.  She remembered the flashes of it.  The warmth in her stomach.  She stretched her fingers beneath the blankets and brushed them over her hip, trying to recall the sensations.  She stopped, frowning as she encountered plastic and wires.  She traced along them, discovering they covered her entire abdomen. 

Panic swelled in her throat.  Something wasn’t right.  It shouldn’t be like this.  It hadn’t been like this when she’d woken up from being dead.  Her fingers shook as she pulled her hand out from the blankets slowly.  She tried to control her breathing, calm herself. 

“Sweetie,” she tried to say, her voice hoarse.  She reached for him instead, her heart pounding against her ribs.  She pushed her fingers into his hair, her thumb brushing his temple for a split second before his head shot up, blue eyes blinking awake before awareness crossed his face.

“River,” he said, scooting his chair closer to her.  His face showed his own share of panic and concern. 

She felt tears welling in her eyes as she reached down, her throat betraying her, her voice refusing to work.  She settled her hand on her belly, feeling the wires beneath the blankets, noticing the cool material pressing against her skin for the first time. 

He watched her for a moment before his hand come up to cover hers, moving it away. 

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, leaning over to kiss her temple.  Breath against her ear as he nuzzled her hair, breathing her in.  “You’re fine.” 

“What?” she managed, feeling the tears start to freely fall down her face now.  She didn’t fight them, the panic too close to the surface.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, sitting up to smile down at her.  “It’s just monitoring.”

“Sweetie,” she managed.  The sounds coming back to her.  The pain.  The screaming. 

He nodded, blue eyes shining as he reached up and pulled a monitor down so she could see it.  He squeezed her fingers as an image appeared on the screen.  Her lungs stopped working, her heart stuttering. 

It wasn’t much more than a blob, really, but she could make it out.  The small head forming.  The tiny pulse of a working heart controlling a primitive cardiovascular system. 

“River,” the Doctor whispered, pushing her hair off her face.  “It’s fine,” he repeated and River shook her head, freeing her hand and reaching for the screen. 

“I was,” she managed, looking away to meet her husband’s eyes.  They were warm and kind, and he was smiling at her, all hints of worry pushed away.  “I,” she continued. He needed to know.  The doctors needed to know.  “My head,” she managed. “There was a fire…”

“I know,” he interrupted.  “And toxic fumes on the asteroid.”  His smile grew and he cupped her cheek. 

“It’s fine,” he said again, turning the screen so he could see it too.  “She’s fine.”

The tears were falling freely, and River did nothing to stop them.  Couldn’t imagine trying.  She stared at him a moment, his words sinking in.  His smile growing as he met her eyes again. 

“She?” River asked. 

He nodded, leaning up plant a kiss onto River’s forehead. 

“She,” he repeated, sitting back down and bringing her hand to his lips.  “She kept you alive,” he said.  He shook his head, shaking away something before locking eyes with her again, smiling.  “You were nearly gone.” He paused again, swallowing. 

“How?” River asked glancing back up at the monitor, tracing her fingers over the screen. 

He shook his head again. “Not sure.  No one is.  There are no more experts on Time Lord physiology, even here.”  He grinned and looked back to the screen.  “It appears she has regeneration energy already…” 

River felt the fear swell in her heart and tried to push up.  She hadn’t known. The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down.  Alarms started to go off as the cool plastic slipped lower on her stomach and the monitor suddenly went black. 

“River,” he said, standing up and trying to keep her in place. 

She had to get up.  She had to go.  She hadn’t known.  She never would have…

The door flew open and a nun came in.  The concern faded from the kind face as soon as she saw River.

“Professor Song,” the woman said, smiling and moving forward and putting her hand on River’s other shoulder.  “You have to stay calm.  You’re still recovering, again.  You need to take it easy.”  The nun met the Doctor’s eyes and her husband nodded.

“We’re trying to calm your baby’s systems down.  Everything is back where it should be, but you just have keep calm until we’re sure it’s all stable.  You’ve both done amazing so far, but she was just progressing a little quickly, we’ve slowed it back down to where it should be.”  The words were genuine and there was no judgment in the woman’s eyes.  River wondered vaguely what her husband had told them.  The reason they thought she was here.  She doubted anything like “my wife threw a temper tantrum on my magic time machine box and got lost in the time vortex” was in the story.

River nodded and sat back into the pillows. The nun pulled the blankets down to replace the monitoring devices as her husband brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles again.

“She kept your heart beating when your lungs stopped working,” her husband continued, his voice kind as he watched the nun work.  River couldn’t understand why he wasn’t angry.  Why he wasn’t raging against her.  “She created oxygen, forced your lungs to start again.  I don’t know how. Nobody knows how.  But she did it.  Kept you alive, kept you both alive.”

“A miracle,” the nun said, not looking up, and River saw her husband roll his eyes. 

“Magic,” he said, kissing River’s hand again.  “Our little Magician.” River frowned.  There was something in his tone, something in his features.  He knew.  She gasped and met the nun’s eyes just as the woman refitted the blankets. 

“Get some rest,” the nurse said again, tapping River’s leg.  As soon as the door closed behind the nun, River turned to her husband. 

“Have you met her?” she asked, bringing her other hand up to cover her stomach knowing she couldn’t feel anything yet, but easily imagining a little girl moving around inside of her.  “You’ve never said.”

He stared at her for a moment.  “Spoilers.”

River snatched her hand away.  The Doctor frowned but nodded. 

“So have you,” he said, running had hand along his jaw.  She shook her head. She hadn’t.  She would have remembered.  She would’ve known. 

Why?  She’d never thought of this, them having a child.  She’d never even considered this.

“The library,” she whispered.  Her husband reached up and pushed her hair off her face again. 

“Yes,” he said.

“She got me out of the library?”  He nodded.  “It wasn’t you?”

He shrugged his shoulders and for the first time she noticed how tired he looked. 

“And she’s fine?”  He nodded again, holding open his hand and she stared at it a moment before slipping her fingers between his again. 

“She’s perfect,” he said, squeezing River’s fingers.  “A little bigger than she should be, the regeneration energy probably sped that up.” She shook her head and used her free hand to reach for the monitor.  With the push of a button it lit up again and she stared at the image.

“How?” she managed, running her finger along the edge of the little blob. 

He chuckled, and maneuvered so he could stare at it too. 

“Usual way,” he said.  “Seems like you and I are productive when desperately trying to not have to talk to each other.” 

“But it was just a few weeks,” she said, thinking of their desperate encounters before it had become too much for her. He smiled at her, and she felt the grin spread across her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience!


	14. And then there were three...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been in an unusually sappy mood recently, and it came out in this chapter. It's might be just a bit over the top, so head up and I apologize if you think I went too far. Call it hormones. Call it life. :)

Happiness is like a kiss. You must share it to enjoy it.  -- Bernard Meltzer

 

The doctor found the box exactly where he’d left it longer ago than he could even remember.  He’d been unable to throw it way, unable to do anything but hide it and pretend to forget that it even existed. That none of it had ever happened.  At least he was consistent in his history of running way from pain. 

His hands shook as he reached for small handles and lifted it.  Its lightness surprised him.  Something that carried this much emotional weight certainly should be heavier.  It wasn’t though.  He tucked easily it against one hip as he made his way back through the halls of the Tardis and into his small office.  The office he never ever used, with a desk that hadn’t seen any work since River had sat there studying for her exams.  She’d teased him relentlessly then, bringing around ever younger and more attractive boys.  Waving them in front of his face just to get a reaction, and he’d always reacted.  Always.  Always stirred the jealousy pot that she’d loved so much.   And they’d both enjoyed every second of it. 

He couldn’t imagine trying to go through that again.  He was old now.  And the fun should be tempered with the pain. 

They all deserved his pain, especially River. 

He sat the box on the desk and took a deep breath before flicking the lid off.  It tumbled to the floor but he couldn’t be bothered with that.  What he was looking for sat right on top and his heart ached to see it. 

He reached in and pulled the book out.  One corner was slightly damaged; Susan had chewed on it for a few minutes while unsupervised, and he ran his finger over it, remembering having to negotiate it away from her.  She’d relented to him, because she always had. 

He opened to the first page and remembered the day his son had handed it to him.  “It’s Susan’s new favorite,” the younger man had insisted, and had laughed to see the disdain on his father’s face.  His wife had snatched it away, swept Susan up, and proceeded to read it over and over.  

He pretended to be annoyed, but was secretly jealous that she’d done it first.  She’d never hesitated to accept a moment of joy when it swooped by, and he wished like hell, especially now, that he’d bothered to pay attention to how she did it. 

He was as happy as he’d been in forever, and so unbelievably terrified he almost couldn’t move.  River was back on the Tardis, she and The Magician both fine.  But they, him and her, felt like they were far from it. 

Politeness ruled the roost on the Tardis these days, friendly enquiries of ‘Would you like tea?’ or “Is it too cold in here for you?’   There’d been no talking.  No arguing.  River was nervous and afraid, but about what, he didn’t know. And he was too afraid to find out in case she tried to leave again.  In case she left for him to never find her. 

He couldn’t live with that.  Not now. 

And he also couldn’t figure out how the hell they’d get to where he’d learned they’d be. 

“Doctor?” Her quiet voice penetrated his thoughts and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” he replied, unable to keep the smile from his face at seeing her.  He had Clara go to a mall while River was still in the hospital and had picked up more clothing than he’d ever seen in his life, but River was still wearing his dress shirt.  She’d slept in a different one every day.  He held onto the fact like it was the last beacon that would save them.  “How are you feeling?”

She nodded, walking into the room and looking around.  “Good.  I was just thinking about lunch.  I thought,” she paused, spotting the book in his hand. She frowned, and he looked down at it before holding it out to her. 

“It was Susan’s,” he said, watching her eyes go wide in surprise.  “My,” he started, stopping on the word ‘son’.  He couldn’t say it, even now.  Even to River.  “There was a copy for us to read to her.  It was her favorite.”  He shrugged as River looked at him, and had to look away.  “I thought it– it might have a purpose now.” 

He stared that the floor and heard River opened the book. 

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly a moment later and he looked up again, surprised by the question.  She looked concerned, worried about him.  She was holding the book as carefully as he had been.  She understood its value.  Understood in ways that no one else ever would.

“Of course,” he said.  She looked at it for another moment and handed it back to him. 

“I think you should read it to her.  You can tell her about Susan.” She paused. “About her brothers.” He ran his fingers over the cover and reached to put it back in the box.  He wasn’t sure he could talk about his children, even with his daughter.  River only knew because she knew him, everything about him, she’d studied every aspect.  Some of it while sitting at this very desk.

Knew everything but what mattered most. 

He pushed the box aside and leaned back on the desk.  He looked up and met his wife’s eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the floor.

“I’ve been in love with three women in my life,” he said.  His body tensing up with the emotions, the sharing. He hated it, but he needed to say it.  “Rose we’ll discount because she’s out there somewhere happy.  She has to be,” he left it at that, not willing to go further down that road.  “I loved a woman I never understood.  I dreamed of the universe and she was content on Gallifrey.  She was happy in ways I never understood and it wasn’t until she was gone, until they all were, that I knew just how much I relied on her happiness to be happy.” He took a deep breath and fought against the tightening in his throat.  He forced his eyes up and looked at River again.  There were tears in her eyes but she hadn’t moved.  Hadn’t run to or away from him. 

“And you,” he continued.  “My River,” he voice cracked and he swallowed past that.  “The first time I met you, you died.  I promised myself, promised that I wouldn’t alter anything, but that I wouldn’t let you get too close.  If I hadn’t been able to save you.  If I hadn’t…” he trailed off, unable to talk about Darillium, about the library.  “It almost killed me. I knew it was coming and there was nothing I could do about it.” 

She opened her mouth, but he held his hand up.  He had to get this out.  He was only marginally better at this than his predecessor had been, and if she gave him an out, which she would, he’d take it.  He’d take it and she wouldn’t get what she deserved.  Just this once, she’d get everything she deserved. 

“You deserved more, you always have.  But he couldn’t go back, River, I couldn’t, he couldn’t go to your house.  I wouldn’t have survived that.  And that’s not a good excuse.  I know that.  It’s disgustingly selfish.  But it’s the truth.  I’ve manipulated you in every way, and I’d like to tell you I’m sorry.  But you are standing here, in front of me.  Even if you walk away,” he shook the fear of that way, “I wouldn’t take it back. Because you’re here.  Alive. Well.  And because of you, there will be her.”  River’s hand moved to her stomach and he smiled at the gesture. 

“And,” he paused, shaking his head.  “That’s it really.  I just…” he suddenly felt exposed and awkward.  As if he’d said too much.  As if he’d embarrassed himself.  “Thought you should know.”  He pushed up on the desk, trying to stand, but suddenly River was in front of him.  Pressed in his space. 

“When I was lying there,” she said.  She grabbed his wrist and brought it up to press against his shirt, to press against his daughter.  “I thought about you,” she said, freeing his wrist to run her fingers through his hair.  “ _You_ ,” she emphasized.  “I thought about how sad you were going to be, how angry with me. And I didn’t even know about this, about her.  If we’d lost,” her voice caught this time and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. 

“Shh,” he said, not wanting to think about that.  Not wanting to consider it.  “You didn’t know.  And it’s fine now, you’re both fine.” She nodded and he buried his face in her curls.  He fought the urge to squeeze her as tight as he could, pull her so close she’d never be able to get away.  That wasn’t River’s way.  The tighter he held, the harder she’d pull.  And he hoped like hell she might just stop running, find a home again. 

He sighed, taking a last deep breath and let her go.  He settle his hands on her hips as she leaned back and brushed his thumbs over her hip bones.  She had tears again, he’d seen her cry a handful of times before Darillium, and she’d done an awful lot of it since she’d been back.  He hated that.  Hated that she felt even a moment of sadness, but he caused some of it, she some.  This was who they were and if they were going to make it, he should probably start accepting that sometimes he wasn’t the bad guy.  Guilt accomplished nothing. 

He smiled at her, and she wiped her cheek smiling back.  “You were saying something about lunch?” he managed to latch onto something to break the silence before it became too heavy, and her smile grew. 

“I was thinking,” she started and he knew the second she changed her mind.  The second whatever boring, safe thing that she’d come into this room to offer, her poor excuse to see him probably, vanished.  She had a better idea, his River Song always did.  “That hotel in Cabo, with the poolside restaurant where the waiter comes to your cabana?”

He grinned at her, wrapping his arms around her waist more playfully this time.  “You mean Jesus, the man in the, what did you call it?  Banana hammock? Who brought you endless plates of calamari and glasses of cerveza?” 

She shrugged at him and he almost laughed.  His River was there, hidden beneath all this.  “No beer this time,” she said.  “Or calamari come to think of it, but the food was good. The cabanas secluded, and I never say no to you in a bathing suit.” 

“You haven’t seen me in a bathing suit,” he said.  “In fact, I’ve never worn one.”

“There is always that option,” she said, eyebrow cocking up.  

“Oh shut up,” he said, playfully pushing her back enough so that he could properly stand. “Let’s go get you fed before my daughter starves.”

* * *

 

It was hot, but the cool breeze of the misting fan in the corner of the cabana made it bearable.  So did his wife lying next to him in a bathing suit he certainly hadn’t seen before, giving away absolutely no hint of there being a small being growing inside of her. 

She had large sunglasses on, and her side of the cabana shade pulled back, letting the sun beat down on her.  She’d been friendly enough with Jesus whenever he came by, bringing them food or drinks, but none of her usual flirting had come out.  She was content, as the hand resting comfortably on his thigh indicated. 

And he’d take it.  Comfortable and moving in the right direction.

“Gracias,” River said, as Jesus appeared again, handing her a large bottle of water.  The waiter smiled, eyeing her up and down, but River didn’t notice.  She took a long drink of water and tossed the bottle down onto the collection of towels.

“So,” she said after a minute, lying down on her back, using his arm as her pillow. “I want you to think about something,” she hinted quietly.  She settled her hand on her stomach and he was tempted to cover it with his.  But he sensed this was one of those moments when he was supposed to listen.  Those moments were important and he needed to be better at identifying them.

“And I just mean think about,” she said.  “Nothing’s going to happen right away.”  She rubbed her fingers gently up and down, and this time he did reach over, pressing his fingers between hers and into her stomach. 

“I want her to have normal,” River said, her voice suddenly quiet.  “I never did.  Not really. A home.  School.”  He nodded; he understood that.  That was his River.  His wild thing that flourished with a home base.  A stationary one.  “So I want you to start thinking about places.  Places where we can park the Tardis in the living room and make the best of both.”  She stopped, releasing his hand and turning on to her side.  She lifted her sunglasses and her green eyes were serious.   This was important to her. 

“I’ve never done this before,” she said, “and I’m terrified.”  Terrified, he’d never heard his wife say that word before.  Nothing even close to it.  “But I don’t want to give up Time Lord life either,” she said truthfully a smirk crossing her face.  “I am you biggest fan girl.”

“And my most important companion,” he added.  Her face lit up at the compliment and he leaned forward to kiss her nose.  She shouldn’t be so surprised to hear that.  He needed to say it more.  But he tucked his self-loathing away and let her finish. 

“So, someplace you can live with,” she shrugged, glancing down at her still-flat stomach.  “Just eventually.” 

He pushed her hair behind her ear, and drew her attention back to him.  He could name a dozen places he’d like to live, but permanency was his problem.  And she understood that, it’s why she was giving him time.  No limit, no list of options. 

This is what she wanted.  What she needed. He was entrusted with making it happen.  And he knew that he would. 

He nodded, and pulled her close.  Normal.  He never thought he’d do it again.  Never thought it’d be appealing, but it was hardly the first time he’d been wrong. 

 


	15. One last call for alcohol

I’m incredibly cheesy.  I’m all about happy endings and all of that. ~~ Rebecca Mader  


“That was amazing,” Clara said, hooking her arm through the Doctor’s and moving closer.  “I can’t believe you kept a thousand year fair a secret all these years.” 

“Hardly a secret, the universe is old and big.  All that you don’t know still vastly outnumbers all that you do.” 

She shrugged and dropped her head onto his shoulder.  “Still it was amazing.  Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, accepting the comfortable silence as it settled between them.  He hadn’t seen her much in the last few months – readjusting to life with River was all encompassing.  And while he didn’t regret a single second of it, he’d happily agreed when River suggested they pick Clara up for a weekend trip.  He knew it was because he was driving his wife crazy with all his worrying, but he wouldn’t apologize for that.  And he suspected that secretly River liked it.

“Where are you at on the home count?” she asked, and he shook his head. 

“River found two homes on Andros that she likes, and with the new contenders on Earth I think we’re at seventy-six.”

Clara chuckled and squeezed his arm.  “You might settle on a place by the time Amelia’s…”

“No,” he said, stopping and looking at her.  “She isn’t Amelia anymore.  Or at least she isn’t right now.”  He shook his head and they continued walking.  “For the last week, any thoughts or references to Amy only bring tears.  Lots and lots of tears.”  When they’d agreed on Amelia, he ‘d thought they finally named their daughter, but apparently not. 

River only had three moods now.  Tears, anger, and randy.  Not that he minded the excessive amounts of sex, but she was truthfully wearing him out.  He’d hinted about it at the last check in appointment at Schism.  The actual doctor had just smiled and patted him on the shoulder.  Apparently it was completely normal.  So now he just tried to keep up, or at least not get in the way.

“I liked Amelia,” Clara said, but then shrugged.  “But you’ll find something perfect.  Maybe you both need to actually meet her before you decide.”

He huffed and didn’t point out again that they actually had both met her, and still couldn’t decide. 

“Anyway,” Clara continued, “we promised River that we’d pick her up at the tea tent before grabbing lunch.  There’s apparently some custom burger restaurant around here she wanted to try.” 

He nodded, remembering River’s excitement as she’d read the menu items.  They’d sounded disgusting, but she was almost drooling.  And what River wanted, he ate. 

“I’m sure it will be thoroughly disgusting,” he said, “like most of her food choices recently.”  They turned the corner towards the tea tent entrance as Clara laughed.  He was about to expand on some of his wife’s recent dietary choices, including an unfortunate incident with fish custard,  when River’s shouts made their way out of the tent and to them. 

“STAY DOWN!” came his wife’s voice, followed by the distinct stound of her blaster going off. 

He and Clara were still for a moment before he charged inside, pushing his way past the crowd of people desperate to get away from the ruckus. 

“River!” he called, all but leaping a table before spotting his wife, gun out and pointed at the ground.  He got momentarily tripped up by an overturned chair, almost slamming into her side. 

“What – happened?” he asked, suddenly out of breath, spotting the very large, green alien he didn’t recognize lying on the floor, next to a human with a stun blast in his chest.  A quick glance indicated he was still breathing, so the Doctor turned his attention back to his wife. 

River’s cheeks were bright red, hair run amuck on top of her head.  She was breathing heavily through her nose.  Her free hand clutched her belly. Her large, very obviously pregnant belly.  His hand joined hers there as he leaned forward. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, just resisting the urge to completely pull her into his arms and rush her away from here.  That wouldn’t be welcome.  Despite all his urges, his wife didn’t need his protection.  Especially in circumstances like this. 

She nodded, glanced at him, and then back at the floor.  “He tried to touch my stomach,” she said, “Made a joke about having me take a turn with him next, carry one for him.” Her lip curled up in disgust and his fingers pressed firmly into her belly as he resisted another urge, this time to punch something.  The action drew River’s attention and her disgust and anger dissipated into a quick smirk.

The sight brought the image of his daughter to his mind, standing at the top of the stairs on the Tardis laughing at him.   And he was reminded of the first thought he had when he’d seen her there.  The first word that popped into his head. 

“Melody,” he said softly, seriously.  River was still for a moment before looking over at him, slightly confused.  He grinned at her.  “I think we should name her after the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”  River didn’t respond, and he could see the thought of Amy lurking in her green eyes.  But not Amy, not even close.  Not Clara or Sarah Jane or Peri.  “Melody,” he said again and watched as River’s eyes went wide.  He nodded, and rubbed his hand in a quick circle around her stomach. 

Her stunned shock eased into a smile, and she looked down, covering his hand with her own. 

“Melody,” River said.  “Melody, our perfect magician.”

She nodded and leaned over to give her husband a kiss.

Clara cleared her throat behind him and as they both turned to look at her she gestured towards the window.  There were sirens in the distance.

“We should probably go,” she said.  He turned back to River and she shrugged, patting her belly quickly before holstering her gun and grabbing his hand.

“At least this time I got some tea,” River said, pulling him behind her as she grabbed Clara’s arm and led them out the door.

* * *

 

The smell of food permeated the living room as they both exited the Tardis and climbed over the couch.  They looked at each other, frowning.  They hadn’t expected anyone to be up, hoped really that they wouldn’t get caught.  They both silently hoped it was their mother, and turned the corner into the kitchen.   

“Ah,” their father said from the stove where he was making quick work of some scrambled eggs.  “The Magician and the Engineer, home from their night of shenanigans.” The Magician opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly held up the spoon, silencing her. 

“All I want to know,” The Doctor said, “is if it’s done and done properly.  Your mother was asleep up those stairs when I climbed out of bed, I think we all can agree we’d still like her to be there when I go wake her for breakfast, right?”  They both nodded like children much younger than they actually were.  “And we’d like her to not shoot me dead because she’s in some other timeline where she doesn’t remember us?”  They nodded again. “Well?” he said. 

“It was done perfectly,” the Engineer said.  “And Melody even landed the Tardis correctly, twice.” 

The Magician rolled her eyes, but didn’t miss her father’s happy smile.

“Good,” he said, gesturing to the table with his head.  “Get some plates on there will you? And take over for me.  I promised to get her up so she could drag me to an archaeological convention on some ungodly world.” he handed the spoon to his daughter, kissing her on the temple as she started to stir.  “We all know how successful that was last time.  I almost came home in body number fourteen,” he added as he started up the stairs.

A moment later the siblings heard their mother’s sleepy grumbling as she made her way down.  They simply looked at each other and smiled. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to thank everyone who took the time to read and/or comment on this story. You all have been awesome and I really appreciate it. It's been a very, very fun experience for me to write a Doctor Who fic, so hopefully there will be more. Secondly, and with my most sincerest gratitude I want to thank ScopesMonkey. She read through ever chapter of this, even some that didn't get published. She beta'd, told me when things sucked, told me when they were awesome and sat through every conversation I wanted to have about it, all while truly just hating River Song. So, thank you dear friend for loving me even if you didn't always like the subject matter. Champagne on the Seine on me in less than two months (and a Johnlock fic)!!


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